


As the Storm Came to an End

by raktajinos



Category: Red Eye (2005), The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Character Study, F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Plot Devices, Porn With Plot, Torture, Tropes, discussions of child abuse (in past), dont need to have watched Blacklist to read this, not graphic and doesn't happen just talked about, plot holes abound, well some plot its a lot of character study with sex and some plot hahah
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-27
Updated: 2014-05-27
Packaged: 2018-01-26 17:57:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 37,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1697300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raktajinos/pseuds/raktajinos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Its been three years since the events on the flight, Lisa has a new job, new apartment and a whole new life. She comes home one day to find Jackson Rippner sitting in her living room telling her they are going to be working together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As the Storm Came to an End

**Author's Note:**

> For additional notes about warnings, please see notes at end. 
> 
> \- you don't need to have seen The Blacklist to read this. Story is 95% Red Eye, with 5% The Blacklist. 
> 
> \- there's plot holes. I tried to fill them but gah! You've been warned lol.
> 
> Be sure to check out the fanmix I made to go along with the story, [over here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1697486)

He sucked in his breath as he heard the click of the key in the door; the slight shifting of the gears in the lock loud in the silence of the apartment. He forced his breathing to even out, not wanting to give away his position.

The door handle clicked open and he felt the brief gush of air push in from the hallway as the door opened. The apartment was small, exquisite, but small and he had taken up position in a large plush chair in the living room, nestled in the corner against the small wall that separated the room from the entryway. The location was perfect, providing him with cover as well as a full view of the apartment.

His fingers clenched tensely into the soft material of the chair, his body uncharacteristically nervous. He never got nervous before a job…but this wasn’t a normal job. He was breaking several rules, and maybe a few laws, in being here. A wry smile curved the side of his mouth, breaking the stony default expression; sometimes the risk was worth the fun.

She was home later than expected. He was normally a patient man, patience was one of the key elements to why he was so successful at his job, but the several hours of her lateness had resulted in him getting…..bored. He’d broken away from his guard from the chair to explore her apartment while he waited, learning who she was now. There were a few pieces of furniture that had been in her old apartment, he’d spent enough time stalking her last time that he’d learned the entire contents of her house; creepy, but regrettably necessary. Judging by their age and quality had to be heirloom family pieces, passed down to her from loved ones. Except for those select pieces, everything was new. He’d been in his line of work long enough to recognize the signs of ‘starting over’, he’d had to do it half a dozen times himself. It appeared as if Lisa had started over.

Well he knew that already. He might have disappeared shortly after that day two years ago thanks to friends in high places, but he’d kept tabs on her. Nothing invasive and nothing that would draw the ire of his superiors – his continued interest in her would have been interpreted as ‘undesired behaviour’ and he would have been dealt with. Tt was hard to out-spy a spy, well, _manager_ , and so he managed to maintain a watchful eye over her anyways. It satisfied both his curiosity and the need to keep her safe.

Her actions had put a target on her back; garnering interest from a few interested parties – some looking to hurt her, others looking to hire her. He’d managed to squash any plans of vengeance from his ‘friends’, citing his own desire to be the one to hurt her…and she managed to take care of the job offers well enough on her own.

He was honest with his acquaintances that he wanted to be the one to hurt her; he hated her, hated what she’d done to him. He wanted to destroy her life like she did his.

However, five months in the hospital recovering from the five bullet holes and two stab wounds she’d managed to put in his body gave a man time to reflect. He spent most of it angry, planning his revenge. But then he heard the plans to have her taken care of for him and he felt a shift. He wasn’t sure _why_ he was suddenly so concerned for her safety, but he was. Once the initial anger left him, he had to begrudgingly concede that he respected her. She put up one hell of a fight and no one had ever bested him on a job, least of all an untrained civilian. She had _something_ ; he could see why several organizations had tried to recruit her.

All through his recovery and the following years, she occupied his thoughts, making him want to make good on his promise to ‘steal her’. But he’d kept his distance, showing a remarkable level of self-control he didn’t think he had in him anymore. In the two years since that flight, he’d throw himself into work, taking jobs that took him as far away from her as possible. But the universe had a sick sense of humour and he found himself exactly where he didn’t want to be.

When he was told of his next job, he’d felt his stomach drop when he quickly put the pieces together in his mind. He showed no outward signs of discomfort, which pleased his employers, as did his dispassionate responses when he was asked if he had any “problems” with the specifics. _A lie_.

He had several problems with the specifics.

He’d been proud of how she had acted afterwards; he felt…. _guilt_ over what he’d put her through. A new emotion for him; he’d never felt remorse or guilt or responsibility for a mark before. It was uncomfortable and he’d been eager to be rid of it. So when he saw how she had rebounded from the horror he’d put her through, he had been pleased. Something positive resulted from his actions.

From his discreet surveillance, he knew Keefe had offered her a job soon after she’d saved the lives of him and his family; a job she accepted. The new job required her to move out to Virginia, headquarters for Homeland Security. His contacts within the government and espionage world were considerable, and he’d been able to learn that she did well in the department, not that he was surprised about that, and she’d risen within the agency. He wasn’t sure exactly what she did, and he didn’t want to put unneeded stress on his contacts to find out. It irritated him, the not knowing.

He’d find out soon enough though.

The sound of the door shutting softly brought him back to the present. He heard her deposit her keys in the little bowl by the door – a habit she apparently did not drop. She was humming; she’d had a good day then; he felt a tad bad that he was going to spoil her good mood. But not that badly.

He mapped out her movements in his head, imagining as she walked through the darkness. The rhythmic click of her heels as she walked into the kitchen, a soft whoosh as she put a bag on the kitchen island. Cabinet door. Sound of the tap being turned on. Water. Tap Off. She was still humming as she wandered around the kitchen, then to the bedroom. Click of a light. Heels being dropped casually on the floor somewhere, accompanied by a sigh of relief.

He missed this, the rush of adrenaline in his body, waiting to be discovered. His entire body pulsing to be put into action, almost causing pain as he forced himself to sit as still as possible; to be patient. Like putting off pleasure for as long as possible, knowing the lengthened suffering will only make the pleasure that much sweeter. 

So he sat there in the dark, body tensed, eyes searching in the darkness.

 _Click_.

He heard the sound a split second before the light came on, blinding him slightly after spending so many hours in the dark. He blinked quickly before looking up, the barrel of a gun pointed straight at his head. His eyes travelled up the gun to the steady hand holding it, following it straight up until his eyes met the eyes of Lisa Reisert.

He tried to recover from the surprise of her stealth by giving her one of his trademark charming grins.

“Leese, long time, no see.”

 

\------ 

 

She knew someone was in her apartment the moment she stepped through the door. She’d developed a sixth sense about that since her attack six years ago and it had only been heightened with the training she’d gotten at the agency. She moved through her apartment at her usual pace, going through her pattern; if they wanted to simply kill her, they would have done it already. They wanted something else. She used the noise of the tap to disguise the sound of her getting her backup gun from behind the stove; no one ever found her backup backup there, she kept the decoy spare in the utensil drawer. She checked, it was missing.

She slipped off her shoes and threw them into her bedroom, hoping the noise would distract her guest. It was logical they were in her living room, anywhere else and they risked getting stuck in the apartment in case of an attack. People at the agency told her her apartment was a risky choice, only one exit and too many nooks. She preferred it that way, one way in, one way out. The windows were useless as a subtle entry point; being on the 32nd floor ensured that. She wanted to know when she was being attacked and she liked the nooks, places to hide - not just for any uninvited but for her as well. Having nooks and crannies to hide in had saved her life before.

Sliding quietly along the hardwood flooring, she moved without a sound through the apartment, sticking close to the walls. She slid into the living room, careful to stay out of any light coming through the windows from the street, avoiding making any silhouette. Her guest was not so careful. From this angle, she could see the barest outline of a man sitting in her chair. He was in the corner, _smart_ , but the side of his head was just visible in shadow. She moved quickly, knowing if he was as good as he probably was, he’d feel her presence any moment. She stepped forward, her arm moving out to the lightswitch that she could find by memory in the dark. Pointing the gun, she clicked it and the light on at the same time.

She wasn’t quick enough to disguise the shock on her face when the light fell on the face of the man in the chair. But she was pleased to see the shock on his face that she’d gotten the slip on him. Again, she thought ruefully.

“Leese,” he said, recovering quickly. “long time no see.”

Her body stayed rigid, she no longer feared this man, but the adrenaline coursed through her body, uncertainty and panic fueling her. His reappearance in her life couldn’t mean anything good. In the years since that flight, she’d turned her life around no longer fearing shadows. The irony being that she accepted a job that turned around and taught her to fear the shadows. But she loved her job; and the fact that she got to carry a weapon made her feel powerful.

“Jackson,” she said calmly, pleased that her arm was steady, not wavering as she pointed the gun at him. She didn’t let her eyes move from his face, her peripheral vision allowing her to keep tabs on his hands lest he reach for a gun - which he undoubtedly had on him, or if he striked out to disarm her.

“What do you want?” she asked her voice clipped.

“Can’t a guy just visit an old friend,” he teased, that annoying smile back on his face. The one he taunted her with when they first met, the one that made her _feel_ things for him.

She gave a small snort-laugh, “we’re not friends, Jackson.”

His smile wavered ever so slightly, but she caught it. “No, I don’t suppose we are.”

Silence lapsed, their eyes never leaving each other, a silent battle of wills waiting for the other to speak. She stayed silent, she was content to stand there all night, win this stupid standoff. He shuffled in his seat and she knew she’d won, her lips curving into a small smile. He knew it too by the look on his face, a reluctant grimace.

“How have you been, Leese?”

“Oh jeez. Really?” she said, rolling her eyes. It was ridiculous. This was ridiculous. Sighing, she lowered the gun and walked out of the room. If they were going to have an actual conversation, or whatever the hell counted as a conversation to him, she needed a drink. She walked quickly into the kitchen, thankful Jackson didn’t follow her and opened the fridge, grabbing two beers from the shelf. She popped off the lids quickly, still not putting the gun down, and then headed back into the living room.

“Here,” she said, practically shoving the cold beverage into his hand. She took a perverse amount of pleasure at the array of emotions playing on his face; confusion, irritation, surprise, and dare she say it, pride.

“I’ve had a long day,” she said as explanation, flopping into the chair across the room from him. She might have been running a risk with her apartment choice, but she’d organized the layout very efficiently. He picked that chair because it provided him cover from the door, but from her position across from him she had full view of the entrance way as well as into the kitchen.

“Do you serve all your home invaders craft beer?” he asked before taking a graceful gulp.

“No, I usually reserve the mainstream piss for them, but I’m all tapped out at the moment,” she replied.

He smiled at that, “still surprising me….”

“Well, I can always still decide to shoot you,” Lisa replied, waving the gun in his direction. And she would too. She’d be happy to put another five rounds into him. She leaned back in the chair and took a deep swig of the beer. It might have been bold ~~reckless~~ to turn her back on him, but she wasn’t that stupid that she’d succumb to her desire to close her eyes and nod off in the chair. It had been a ridiculously long day.

She took the opportunity to observe him, fully this time, the beer and gun acting as a shield. He looked much the same he did two years ago, tall, lean, eyes more blue than the ocean, still gorgeous. His hair was different, a bit shorter but still had a bit of length. He’d put on some weight, filling out the expensive suit more fully than before in that way slight muscular men did. He looked stronger, healthier than the last time she saw him. Granted, the last time she saw him he was laying in a pool of his own blood at the foot of her stairs.

“Do I pass inspection?” he asked abruptly. She noticed his voice had a gravely edge to it that it didn’t use to have, deeper. It added an extra level of mystery to his already charismatic vibe. She tried not to let her gaze focus on his throat, wondering how bad the scarring was and if she got close enough if she could see it. Absently, she wondered if he had scars all over his body as well, from her but from others as well. She hoped he had; she had the mental ones.

“Hmmm?” she played naive.

He gave her a look and she just smiled wolfishly in response.

“Maybe,”

“Maybe?”

“I like the hair,” she said truthfully. She watched as he lifted a hand to run through it, shuffling the strands around in a way that was unbelievably sexy.

She’d worked through her anger, her hatred, her self worth issues, and still after all this time and everything he’d done to her, she still was crazy attracted to him. She could imagine, for a split second, that they _were_ just sitting in her living room enjoying a beer together, enjoying each other’s company and that maybe, just maybe he liked her; that they could be happy. But the second passed when the weight of the gun in her hand reminded her of how things actually were.

“Your voice is different too,” she added.

“Well someone stabbed me in the throat with a pen,” he said smiling.

She grinned back. They might not be happy, but there was an odd sort of comfort and ease to their rapport. Maybe beating the shit out of each other, trying to kill each other forced a sort of truce between them. Though she knew it was only a temporary truce, the longer they stayed in each other’s company, the more likely there was going to be an explosion of some kind. One of them _would_ snap, and she couldn’t promise it wouldn’t be her.

“You’re welcome,” she said cheekily.

He made a little incredulous laugh noise and then relaxed into the chair. It was weird to see his body visibly relax even just a little bit and silence passed between them again. It was too weird.

“How have you been Leese?”

“Fine,” she said with a bit of a snap. “You? Killed anyone lately?”

“Have you?”

“I prefer to maim,”

“I remember,”

“Why are you here Jackson?” she repeated her earlier question.

He sighed, giving in, “we are going to be working together.”

“Will I be a consenting party in this collaboration or have you come to ‘steal me’ like you threatened,”

“It was more of a promise, Leese,” he said laughing. “I forgot about that.”

“Glad I was so memorable,’

“You were,” he said with a finality to his voice, the seriousness of it making her uncomfortable. She looked up and saw he was looking right at her. Their eyes met and she knew she shouldn’t be letting herself feel anything for him, but looking at him now, she couldn’t help but hope she was memorable to him for more than just riddling him with holes.

He cleared his throat, breaking the moment. “I’m working with your department, as a _liaison_ if you will”

“Manager. Liaison. You do like euphemisms for the things you do.”

He gave a shrug.”As yes, as far I’m concerned you’ll be consenting. But the order comes from your boss. Apparently we make an “ideal” team. His phrase not mine.”

She laughed at that. _Ideal team_. “For what exactly?”

“Ohhhhhh,” he drew out, adjusting his suit jacket in a deliberate attempt to delay answering. “I’m not really supposed to talk about it. Actually I was explicitly ordered to _not_ come see you before tomorrow, but what can I say, I missed you.”

“More likely you couldn’t pass up the opportunity to spook me in my own home,” she said deadpan. She knew him better that he thought she did. Those few hours together she’d learned more about the type of man Jackson Rippner was than she did reading those files the agency had given her after the fact. Keefe had pulled some strings to get her the files, and they were illuminating to say the least.

“Maybe,” he grinned. “But without going into details, someone I know is looking to meet someone you know. We’re going to act as intermediaries.”

“How fun,” she said sarcastically.

“It’ll be just like old times,”

“Only if you mean me shooting you, because I’d really like to do that again.” She waved the gun for added emphasis.

She finished the rest of her beer in one swallow, “well if that’s all, I’d rather like to be going to bed now.”

“My, is that an invitation Leese?” he flirted, finishing his own beer.

 _Yes_ she thought to herself. She had wondered often if she just needed to get him out of her system. He had been the first man she’d been attracted to in years and it irritated her that that memory never left her. Even after everything that happened, and perhaps even because of it, she was still curious. He not only awoke her sexual desire, but also her desire for life; fighting for her life and the lives of the Keefe’s that day snapped her out of the stupor she’d been living in. Those two life altering feelings all centered around one man and she couldn’t really blame herself for being curious about what it would be like to be with him.

As she walked out of the living room, she knew she wouldn’t say no if he wanted to join her. Instead she threw a teasing “no,” over her shoulder towards him. She came back and darted her head around the corner, “You know your way out,” nodding towards the door. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She left him sitting alone in the living room.

 

\-----

 

A knock sounded on her door, 5am sharp. Lisa had been up for hours, nervous about today. She’d already known that she was being brought in on something _big_ before Jackson’s visit; having friends in high places got you info when you needed it. But she’d been more on edge since his visit. His calm demeanor irritated her and she was a little pissed off that her employer was going to make her work with the man who held her captive and terrorized her. What possibly could be so important that they needed to bring her in; she wasn’t even a field agent.

She opened the door quickly, already ready to go.

“Ready Lisa?” Elizabeth said, a big smile on her face and two large coffee cups in her hands

“You are the best,” Lisa sighed, taking a big gulp of the best coffee in the world. It really was the best coffee, Elizabeth – well Liz to her friends, worked near this little hole-in-the-wall bakery that in addition to brewing a to-die-for coffee, also made glorious cinnamon buns.

“Hey, I’m finally going to be able to see where you get this coffee, now that I’ve got security clearance,” she said with a grin.

“um….actually,” Liz hedged.

“You’re going to blindfold me aren’t you,”

Liz just grinned at her, enjoying the prospect far too much.

Lisa was indeed blindfolded, but only once she got in the car – they gave her the dignity to walk down her own porch with full sight. And it would have drawn unneeded attention to them, a blindfolded woman being guided into a black SUV… They drove for about half an hour and Lisa tried to gauge the direction they were going, the number of turns, stuff they taught her in training but never really needed to use. But the driver was good, so Lisa lost track half way through. Plus she didn’t have the added pressure of impressing a superior officer or trying to escape an actual kidnapping, it was just Liz and her partner, Don.

She’d met Liz, Elizabeth Keen, two years ago when Kiefe had offered her a job at Homeland; after a lot of thought, she eagerly accepted, wanting to help give back to her country and protect it from horrible people who wanted to destroy it. He hired her on as an interdepartmental liaison, which was surprisingly similar to her old job at the hotel, dealing with needy pushy people and managing them politely, except these people were high ranking officials or government assassins. She was required to go through some mandatory training at Quantico before she could officially start; she needed to learn self-defense, gun procedure, various legal things and other things they thought might come in handy. 

Liz had been in her final months in the profiling department, preparing for her first assignments when they were stuck together during a nuclear attack drill. They happened randomly and wherever you were in the building is where you stayed until the end of the test. Lisa had been in the ladies locker room off the gym and she’d ended up seated against the wall next to Elizabeth for the next three hours. She’d made several friends that day, a hodge-podge of female agents stuck in a room together, but primarily amongst them Liz.

Lisa had been in Virginia for barely two months and there was a huge learning curve. She was lonely, the people in her class were nice enough – she wasn’t in the Agent track and was only required to attend a one-month training program so she wasn’t considered a _threat_ , but she missed her dad, Cynthia, socializing. Granted she hadn’t done much of that in the years prior, but it was the principle of the thing.

Which is why Liz was a godsend; they were really similar – driven, intelligent, introverted and had the same idea of what a good night was. Lisa also understood the need for privacy so she didn’t push Liz to tell her where on god's earth she’d been assigned to or what she did there, or what her husband had to do with anything. About a year ago, Liz’s life fell apart around her when she found out her husband had been a planted spy for their entire relationship. She hit rock bottom and while Lisa didn’t know all the details, Liz did let out a lot more than she probably should have.

They finally arrived at their destination and Lisa was guided out of the van politely and walked into a huge industrial elevator. Once inside that and descending, Liz took the blindfold off.

“Sorry about all the cloak and dagger,” she apologized.

“That’s okay. Can you tell me anything about what’s going to happen?”

Liz and Don exchanged glances, communicating without words; he shrugged.

“You’re going to find out in a few minutes anyway. Remember that guy who took you hostage on the plane a few years ago?”

“Jackson Rippner,” she said calmly.

“Him, yes. Well you’re going to be working with him,” Liz said.

“On what?” she asked calmly. She realized her mistake almost as quickly as she made it, she should have reacted more strongly. “Err, I mean, WHAT?” she tried to correct.

“You already know about that?” Don asked.

“Ya, oops,”  
“I’m not even going to ask how,” he continued, rolling his eyes.

Liz gave her a pointed look, telling Lisa that she would indeed be following up later on that particular detail.

The elevator clunked as it hit the bottom of the passage, the doors opening awkwardly. They really were going for the covert spy look at this place. They walked her through the main bay floor, a series of computer screens and terminals set up with people looking like they were busy doing important work. They brought her around a few corners and up some stairs where she read ‘Director Cooper’ on the door plate before being pushed inside.

“Ah, Miss Reisert, welcome,” Director Cooper said, moving to shake her hand. He was a pleasant man, if not terrifying to the extreme. Lisa had met him before but only briefly; Keife regularly communicated with him and so therefore did Lisa.

“Please have a seat,” he gestured to the leather chair opposite the desk. “I’m sure Agents Keen and Ressler have filled you in on some of the details. We need you to work with Rippner. Now I know this isn’t ideal and I don’t enjoy asking my agents to voluntarily work alongside someone they have _that_ kind of past with, but I’m afraid we’re out of options,”

“What is it exactly you need me to do?” she inquired. She had already decided she would do it, last night when Jackson was sitting in her living room, she knew she had to. But if there was the slightest chance she could get out of it, if Cooper did offer her an out, she was going to take it.

“After your flight, Rippner was arrested as you know. You did a great service that day, capturing him. In exchange for leniency, he gave over the names and Intel for over a dozen wanted terrorists, people we have been searching for for years. He was a great asset.” he said.

Lisa nodded, taking it in. That couldn’t have been an easy choice for Jackson to make; giving up the names of his clients; no matter how riled up she got him he never betrayed the contract he originally made. He’d built a career on his discretion. She hoped it burned him up, knowing what he’d been forced to do to save his own skin.

“Another one of our…assets, has supplied us with some key information that, regrettably, only Rippner will be able to handle. We need you to go alongside him. You know him, you’ve beaten him before and he knows you.”

She could understand where her knowledge of him would be an asset on this mission and the fact that she’d beaten him before was also an advantage; she would and could do it again and he knew it. But as for him knowing her….

“Did he request my presence?” she asked. He did have an obsessive streak in his personality and while she hadn’t seen him since the flight, she wouldn’t be surprised.

“Not in so many words no. He _implied_ that things might go more smoothly if you were to be the agent assigned to him on this case,” Cooper explained with a pained look on his face. “Now, you don’t have to do this, you’re not a field agent, you have every right to refuse….but I know it would reflect well on you to accept,” he said.

She had been around men like him long enough to read between the lines, to hear what he was actually saying. She could refuse, but it would put a black mark on her record and even if she was an exemplary agent going forward, _this_ would continue to look bad for decades to come. 

“Will you accept Agent Reisert?” he asked her and she felt like she was in an army movie, being charged with a top secret mission. Which she supposed she was, except for the movie bit.

“Yes,” she said simply, nodding her head for added emphasis.

“Excellent. Keen, take her downstairs. Briefing in 20 minutes.” he said with a curt smile, dismissing them.

They spent the next twenty minutes waiting in Liz’s office, talking about nothing in particular.

“Is that him?” Liz asked, nodding her head towards the window.

Lisa turned to look, seeing Jackson strolling through, wearing a crisp expensive suit as usual, flanked by two agents. “Ya, that’s him,” _her Jackson_

“You never told me how handsome he was,” Liz said teasing. They’d talked extensively about Jackson, Lisa had told her everything, grateful that she was someone who would get it, understand what she went through and would be able to handle her unloading of the story.

“Oh stop that,” she said, swatting at her friend. As Liz had pointed out on more than one occasion, Lisa had indeed said how handsome and attractive he was, she even said she was a bit obsessed with him.

“He _is_ gorgeous though, in that creepy intense way. I can see what you saw in him…” she said, giving the man a once over. From the vantage in the office, they could see him but he couldn’t see them.

“Yeaaah,” Lisa sighed; even after everything that happened, she still thought he was one of the most beautiful men she’d ever seen up close.

“Shit Lisa. Just sleep with him already and get it over with. Then maybe you can move on,”

“Elizabeth Keen!” she chastised.

“Oh come on, I’m a profiler; nine years of psych training here and I’m giving you this advice for free. If I know anything about you is that you’re still hung up on this guy. Its probably not even _him_ , it’s the idea of him. So the agency has gotten you a swanky hotel room in Paris….y’know.” she said, giving her eyebrows a wag.

“That’s ridiculous,” Lisa said, embarrassed that she’d apparently talked about him enough for Liz, who was usually pretty conservative, to just come out and say this.

“Well I’ll do that if you ask out Ressler,” Lisa shot back with a grin.

Liz blushed and looked away, “I don’t know what you’re talking about,”

“Ha! Now who is the one in denial,”

As if on cue, Ressler walked into the office and Lisa burst out laughing, “speak of the devil,”

“What?” he said, looking between the two of them.

“Nothing,” Liz said quickly.

“We were just talking about you,” Lisa said boldly, a gleam in her eye.

“Ya, I don’t want to know,” Ressler said, ever the professional, but with a hint of a smile. “Cooper is ready to start the briefing.”

Lisa sighed and got up out of her chair, following Liz and Ressler out of their office.

“I’m going to get you back for that,” Liz whispered into her ear.

Lisa smirked, she had no doubt she would.

 

\------

 

Jackson sat in the briefing room, it was far too large than necessary, but it helped create an aura of importance and intimidation. Effective for what they did here. He tried to look calm, disinterested, sipping his surprisingly decent coffee while he waited. He was under no illusions that he wasn’t being watched; he might be working _with_ them, but he was still technically on their ‘domestic terrorist’ watch list.

 _Domestic terrorist_. Maybe that’s what he should tell Lisa he is the next time the topic of his euphemisms come up in conversation. He smiled when he imagined how she’d react to that - a roll of her eyes, maybe a smile. But then again maybe not, if last night was any indication, he really didn’t know her at all.

When he’d snuck into her apartment he was looking forward to surprising her, shocking her with his presence, maybe even getting a little scream as a reward. It _had_ been two years since she’d seen him. He got the surprise, the brief glimmer of shock on her face when she turned on the light, but no scream and no ordeal.

He’d expected that she’d yell at him, hit him maybe, hell, even shoot him again - he’d worn a vest under his suit just in case. What he did not expect was for her to offer him a beer and then flirt with him. The worst part was that she beat him….again. He sat there all smug, waiting for her to find him, when she’d known for at least ten minutes and then played with him, turning the tables. He was getting soft.

No, correction, the worst part was that he enjoyed it. He liked that she could still surprise him. When he targeted her the first time, he thought he knew everything about her; stalked her for six weeks to ensure the success of his plan. It blew up in his face because he underestimated her. She surprised him with her tenacity, resilience, and ingenuity. And she’d done it again. Granted, this time the consequences were nil, but he thought he understood her now, but he was wrong.

He liked that she kept up showing him, taking charge, challenging him. Confidence and a bit of arrogance were attractive qualities on a woman, and Lisa was already a very attractive woman. He’d thought her attractive when he was first given the assignment, felt a little bad that he was about to ruin such a lovely woman’s life, but that’s as far as it went. He came across attractive women all the time; spies, marks, baristas, etc. In his line of work, his lifestyle, it was par for the course. He fell for some of them, not real love of course, but a mutually beneficial passing-in-the-night arrangement.

Lisa though, Lisa was different and he had been forced to use it to his advantage when the death of her grandmother changed all his plans. The original plan had been to simply kidnap her and threaten her with her father’s life; he had to change it to get it done on a short flight. In honour of full disclosure, he probably didn’t _have_ to do it the way he did, he didn’t need to _romance_ her, he could have just sat next to her on the plane and then threatened her. But he went with the riskier, considerably more fun, route.

He was good at his job because he was well aware of his weaknesses and vulnerabilities, and being aware of them made them easier to circumvent. He knew he was attracted to Lisa immediately; she was the type of woman he rarely came across in his line of work - friendly, warm, kind - and he took advantage of the situation to flirt with her. To let himself pretend that they were just two strangers meeting in an airport, that maybe he could indulge himself and take her out for a drink, for dinner.

When he signed up for this job, he knew he was sacrificing the possibility of ever having a ‘normal’ life; he wouldn’t get married, start a family, have friends, go to the cottage, have a dog, etc. And that didn’t bother him, he’d grown up without it so it was hard to miss what you didn’t know. But on occasion, to his immense irritability, he found himself daydreaming about _possibilities_. Lisa was a possibility and that had been dangerous, and the original plan was devised to he could keep his indulgent fantasies out of the work. But then that went to shit.

Maybe if the job details were changed at the last minute…he’d often wondered what would have happened if that last call he made on the plane had been his client telling him the whole mission was off. He wouldn’t have had to scare Lisa, do all those things to her. Instead he would have been able to enjoy a two hour flight in the company of lovely woman. He would have flirted with her, made her laugh, made her smile. They would have talked about normal things, like television and pets. He would have asked her out for breakfast when they landed in Miami. In some of his more morose moods, he let himself imagine further than that; imagining what it would have been like to actually see her as a normal person, meet her family, move in together, get a dog. Rationally though he knew that even if the mission had been called off, that scenario wouldn’t have happened. His job would have prevented him from living any sort of normal life; he could have taken a few weeks vacation but sooner or later his work would have come back up and separated them.

Regardless, the past two years he’d changed. He no longer wanted to live alone and it was all her fault, so it was natural that she should be the one to pay for it. He was here to make good on his promise to steal her. His promise to steal her, he’d not forgotten that he’d said it, a phrase whispered in the heat of the moment. She’d spent a few hours getting under his skin, irritating him, thwarting him at every chance she got. He’d been flustered, anxious and ridiculously attracted to her the worse the evening got. Had he been more calm and contained like he normally was, he wouldn’t have said it, not at least with those specific words. _Steal her_ ; the phrase had to have freaked her out a bit, but if he learned anything about Lisa, she was tough as nails.

But he was here to do it, but with her complete enthusiastic consent. He wasn’t interested in forcing her to be with him. He was hoping that the connection he’d felt before the flight was still there and she might be open to something more.

The room was silent except for the tiny clock on the wall that ticked loudly as it counted the minutes he sat there. It was approaching the fifteen minute mark, and he focused his breathing, remaining calm. Various branches of the American government and a few _independent_ organizations around the world who were a great deal more terrifying, had kept him waiting longer in rooms considerably less comfortable. Plus, he knew it would irritate them and that forced him to grin ever so slightly; he loved irritating them.

He finally heard noises outside the room and the door cracked open, and in walked five agents, followed by Lisa. He let his gaze follow down her body, taking in the sharply tailored black suit and the bright blue blouse peeking out beneath it. She looked fabulous. Confident, smart, the click of her heels commanding attention in the room.

He caught her eyes and gave a small smile. She gave him a head nod in return, ever the professional, coming to sit across from him at the large table.

Three of the Agents he knew; Harold Cooper – the Assistant Director for whatever clandestine blacksite this building was designed for, Meera Malik, the woman who had _personally_ overseen his “interrogation” and Peter Colato, his "handler". He hated that term, such a patronizing term and in his case it was irritatingly appropriate as Colato was more his babysitter than anything else seeing as Jackson wasn’t an agent, but a decently treated prisoner – or “freelance asset” as he was officially designed. Colato liked to press his advantage, trying to get under Jackson’s skin with passive aggressive snide remarks. It did get under his skin, but Jackson prided himself on his ability to disguise his emotions and that irritated Colato enough to keep Jackson from snapping. But he desperately wanted to hit the bastard or kill him or humiliate him; he wasn’t picky about how.

He was looking forward to this mission, not only would it get him near Lisa but it would get him away from Colato. It would be refreshing to get out from under him....and to get under Lisa, or her under him, he didn't have a preference. The corner of his mouth twitched at his accidental double-entendre. He'd spent many an hour imagining what it would be like to have her, to be with her; he hoped that fiery passion she'd fought him with that day would translate into other areas. He fully planned to take advantage of this opportunity and see if there was any interest on her end for him.

He knew there used to be. He was a skilled flirt, he knew how to charm his way with women and men (he didn't care if it helped get the job done) and so he'd gotten good at detecting when people were attracted to him or whatever persona he'd worn for their benefit. So he knew he'd managed to grab Lisa's attention when she changed her mind and agreed to meet him for a drink at the airport bar all those years ago. He didn't know then what that decision cost her, the mental work she had to put in to accept it, to follow up on a flirtation. Maybe if he knew, he wouldn't have done it.

No, he still would have. The job came first. Besides, he only felt remorse because he fell for her and he only fell for her because of what transpired that day, so it was a ridiculous catch 22.

The presence of Cooper was telling about the high-level nature of his first “mission”; the Director didn’t sit in on low level meetings. He’d be surprised if Lisa had had much interaction with him prior to this; she was a good agent, but she was new and relatively low on the totem pole. Until now. He felt a jolt of pride at the idea that he’d been able to bring her some professional prestige.

He didn’t have an opinion on Cooper – he was in many ways the typical FBI Director, cold, calculating, decisive and with a coloured past of redacted activities. That made him instantly understandable, predictable and effective at his job. He would do what was needing to be done, sacrificing whomever to do it.

Despite their history, Jackson liked Malik; she was a stern, focused woman who was able to shut off her emotions and morals in order to get something done. She was fair and kind when needed, but would easily torture someone without guilt; such as himself. When he was first arrested at Lisa’s house he was taken to a hospital for emergency care – two stab wounds and five bullets wounds; it was a miracle he survived. After he stabilized, he was brought to a military hospital for the remainder of his recovery. It was an odd facet of modern warfare, they would help you back to health only to torture you back to being barely alive.

Granted, his “torture” really wasn’t all that bad; they wanted intel, names and locations of people he worked with. He didn’t want to give them anything, happy to do his time for aggravated assault. That was all they could get him on; he was a professional and there was nothing linking him to the attack on Keefe. While that was officially the case, Malik and her superiors knew differently and threatened him to life in solitary if he didn’t co-operate. It was a painfully difficult decision, but he was a man of taste, he liked the finer things in life and he wasn’t going to sacrifice all of that for some of the people he worked for. So he gave up the information, in exchange for leniency, of people who had wronged him. Most were criminals who didn’t pay their bills on time; he hated that. So instead of hiring a collector, he sent the FBI after them. In the end, it worked out rather well for him.

He nodded politely to Malik as she came into the room, giving Colato instead his best ‘fuck you’ smile. Lisa must have caught it because she muffled a small laugh, her eyes lighting up. Jackson winked back. Everyone sat down and Malik cleared her throat, bringing everyone’s attention to the task at hand, starting the meeting.

“Rippner, you are already acquainted with Agents Reisert and Colato,” Jenkins said. “These are Agents Ressler and Keen, they will be taking point on this mission,” she waved her hand towards the two officers he didn’t know. 

Agent Ressler pushed identical black folders across the table to each of them, “if you’ll all turn to page one, we’ll begin,” he said in a professional voice. Jackson sized the man up; blonde, moderately handsome in a classic sense, muscular; a man who worked hard and kept his head down, _almost_ the Captain America type if not for the sharpness to his movements.

“This is Ramal D’Argent, a French business man who we believe also goes by the name Le Choix. Using his considerable legitimate business as a front, he runs a black market information organization. We’ve had our eyes on him for years now and we have recently learned where he will be and when. It is vital that we capture this man, alive, and bring him in for interrogation. He has come into the possession of some restricted information regarding military access codes. These codes grant access to numerous systems in the military throughout the world; navy, airforce, army all risk infiltration if these codes fall into the wrong hands. For obvious reasons we need to repossess this information.” Ressler explained.

Vaguely Jackson thought that they had a larger issue, that of how the information got out in the first place.

“How was the information leaked in the first place?” Lisa asked, mirroring his thoughts, and he was pleased to see she had picked up that little detail.

“We are…unsure. Your mission will be to meet with Ramal, set up a meet time. Rippner has worked with him before so he will know him. Your ‘in’ will be that you are working for someone who is interested in purchasing the information. Once you have D’Argent isolated, we will come and arrest him. Simple. Clean. In and out. Do not concern yourselves with other issues, that will be handled separately.” Ressler stated evasively.

Great, Jackson thought; they had a mole and he was about to risk his life for them.

“You never did tell me _how_ you came across this information,” Jackson said, curious. They were counting on his previous history with the man to ease things along and reduce suspicions, but he was curious as to how exactly they got D’Argent’s name; he was a very careful man, very high profile and very few people knew he was also _Le Choix_. D’Argent was someone he’d dealt with in the past, had purchased and sold information to and had in fact been hired by him to deal with some Canadians that wavered on a contract.

“That is on a need-to-know basis,” Cooper said, the only thing he’d said the whole meeting. 

“D’Argent will be at a charity benefit party in two days. It is there that you will make contact,” Keen said, taking over from Ressler.

“Agent Reisert and Mr Rippner will be posing as a wealthy married couple on vacation which will give you a cover for attending the party,” Diwal explained.

“Really? _That_ is the cover story?” Colato snorted.

Jackson snapped his eyes to him, irritated.

“Isn’t that a bit risky for Lisa?” Colato continued, hand reaching out towards her, the gesture not missed by Jackson.

Interesting. Colato, the great pain in the ass had an interest in his Lisa. He bristled; he hated the man already but _this_ , this little crush just added insult to injury. Logically Jackson knew he had no claim to Lisa, but it didn’t stop the surge of hatred and jealousy that heated his blood.

His mind immediately began assessing whether they might be seeing each other, if every negative interaction he’d had with Colato had been the other man silently mocking him. Had Lisa entertained him with stories of her defeat of him, of his failure. Had Jackson been played the fool whenever he’d been forced to deal with this man? Did it bring Colato pleasure to go home to the woman he knew Jackson was in love with? His spiraling thoughts were interrupted by Mojtabai pushing an envelope at him.

“Agent Mojtabai has secured travel documentation for you both under your new names,” Keen said, and Jackson noticed Lisa had an identical envelope.

Jackson pulled out a passport, driver’s license and credit cards all with the name ‘Jack O’Brannon’ on them.

“Do we have to put on an Irish accent?” he inquired glibly.

Ressler gave him an irritated look, not appreciating his attempt at humour.

“We are scheduled to fly out in forty minutes, the party is tonight at 21:00 Paris time,” Malik said, “it would be best if -

The door shot open and a flustered junior aid popped in, “Director Cooper, Billings wants to get you out here now. Code 7," the kid said out of breath, having clearly run there.

Before he'd even started speaking Cooper had already closed his file folder and had stood up, the other agents in the room doing the same. 

"Keen, Ressler, with me. I’m sorry Reisert but we’re going to have to finish this on the way. Colato, take them to the Bay and get them settled. We leave in fifteen,” she said quickly and firmly, giving Lisa a friendly look before the professional mask fell back in place.

Lisa nodded curtly at their retreating backs. He wasn’t at all surprised at Lisa’s professionalism, it was one of her strongest assets when she managed the hotel. She seemed completely at ease in this environment, focusing intently on learning the vitals for the job, he could imagine the gears clicking in her head as she visualized the plan.

The agents left, and he saw Keen give Lisa a concerned look, her eyes flicking up to glance at him quickly. Lisa gave a smile and a small nod of her head.

The door snapped shut and then it was just the two of them….and Colato. 

“So, you’re going to be my wife,” Jackson said smiling wickedly, giving Colato his best shit-eating grin. He knew the comment would annoy the man and he enjoyed watching that man suffer, regardless of what form that suffering came in.

Lisa turned around in time to see it too, giving him an eye roll. “I’ll take half in the divorce, thank you very much.”

 

\---

 

Colato escorted them to the Bay, the three of them walking in an awkward silence down the corridor, the sound of their shoes echoing in the empty space. Lisa tried to not look at him, forcing her gaze to stay on the papers in the folder in her hands or on Colato’s back in front of her. Her eyes glazed over the words though, her attention was completely focused on the man walking next to her.

The adrenaline from last night helped her deal with suddenly finding him in her living room; it made her bolder, more careless. Now she didn’t have that. Now she was suddenly aware of _who_ it was she was walking with and who she was going to be shipped off on some ridiculous mission with.

She took note of his casual stride, she could after all see his feet and legs from her ‘pretending to read’ pose, noting a slight rigidity to him. _Good_ , she thought to herself. He was always too casual, too relaxed, too practiced in his performance to let anything show. She was glad to see part of him was uncomfortable, but whether or not that had to do with her presence she didn’t know.

She could see him watching her, his keen eyes focused on her every move; spurring her further not to cave. They walked for a few minutes more, eyes darting back and forth, Colato looking back at them both every so often.

“I heard you requested me,” she said quietly, breaking the silence first.

He grinned at her, “Maybe,”

“Shut up, Rippner. And stay here,” Colato said, motioning for them to stop. They’d hit a security wall and he had to go into an adjacent office to talk to the agent and sign for clearance. You’d think in an underground secret base wouldn’t need any more security features than it already had.

They halted, and she snapped the folder closed and took advantage of the temporary privacy, turning her body to face him. "Which one?" she demanded, some of her boldness from last night reasserting itself.

“I did say I’d steal you,” he said, a mocking tone in his voice. He leaned in ever so slightly.

There were cameras and microphones everywhere in this building, and she’d rather not have this personal discussion heard by every agent who wished to, so she moved closer to him, leaning in, almost close enough to touch. She knew immediately that was a mistake of a different kind; getting overheard by a spy agency as you air your concerns wasn’t good….but neither was being pressed up against the man who you were harboring wrong lusty feelings for. She could smell his cologne, the same one he wore on the flight; the one that despite the way that day ended, only reminded her of the handsome stranger she shared a drink with in an airport bar.

“I’m _not_ a field agent, couldn’t you have picked something that _didn’t_ interfere with my work for once,” she said honestly, frustration clear in her voice.

“Maybe I missed you,” he said and she wanted to believe him; the earnest look in his face. “Besides, this situation presented itself to me and I took advantage of it,” he said with a shrug.

She rolled her eyes at him.

She forced herself to not reach out and touch him, thankful she had the file folder to hold onto. But that didn’t stop him from resting a hand on her forearm. It wasn’t a forceful touch, it really wasn’t anything untoward at all; but she liked it nonetheless. She had wondered, for years, whether having him touch her would repulse her, forcing a physical repulsion in her body. For years after her first assault she couldn’t stand being touched, it took her forever to work through the anxiety it caused and learn to accept safe touching from friends. The attack on the flight had dug up a lot of emotions she’d spent so long working on and while beating the shit out of Jackson had been somewhat cathartic for her, she worried it would also bring up habits and anxieties she thought were dealt with.

She wasn’t deluded to think this simple hand on her arm was some test that cleared her for everything; she definitely had intimacy issues and questions….many of which revolved around Jackson; but she felt relieved that her body didn’t respond negatively to his touch. She was proud of herself.

“If you get in my way, screw up my life again, I’ll shoot you…again,” she said darkly.

“Thanks,” he replied with a mock grimace.

“Don’t pretend you don’t like that,”

“Fine,” he grinned.

Colato came back and gave Jackson an irritated look; they were standing too close together. She took a step back, putting some respectable distance between them; far enough that she couldn’t smell his aftershave anymore. She gave Colato a professional nod of the head. She caught the looks Jackson and Colato were giving each other. She'd spent enough time with Colato to know that Jackson was a thorn in his side, that he hated him; he’d only been his handler for a few months, but the animosity was palpable. She didn’t even know Colato was dealing with him until recently; he was very clear about rules of secrecy. Though Lisa had been annoyed that she hadn’t been let in on the developments with Jackson’s case….well her case really.

“All ready?” she inquired, relieved her voice sounded normal, pushing aside their male bravado. They could have a pissing contest later.

 

\---

 

The Bay turned out to be a series of rooms and departments filled with anything and everything an agent might need before going out on a mission. Lisa had been prepped and given some easy-to-conceal weapons (the heavier artillery would be given on site). She’d also been able to call her father to let him know she’d be out of town for a few days for work and for him not to worry. It was ironic that prior to Jackson’s attack, he’d worried incessantly about her, but after the flight his worry didn’t decrease but it _did_ change; he asked less and felt more comfortable that she could take care of herself. He also liked that she carried a weapon now. Perks of the job.

Lisa had also been irritated to know that Liz had already packed a suitcase for her; a small, delicate carry on that would befit the woman of wealth she was going undercover as. She’d packed some of Lisa’s essentials – the rest of it would be covered by the agents on site, and “something special,” Liz had said with a wink in her eye and a tilt of her head towards Jackson. Lisa didn’t want to know what it was; she hoped it was a pen.  
They were packed into a black minivan, herself, Jackson, Liz, Colato and three other agents and driven to the airport.  
As part of their cover, they had to pretend to be their aliases the moment they arrived at the airport; they were dropped off at a private hangar and escorted through the backchannels of the airport.

She’d been given a gorgeous, lux, white suit to wear as part of their cover, with matching heels. It was completely impractical, but she felt like a million dollars in it, striding through the airport like a pro. Jackson’s suit was casual, blue with a polo-shirt design that she’d seen wealthy men wear when she worked at the hotel. He looked fantastic, like he wore that sort of thing everyday, shoes shined, carefree look on his face, hands in pockets. She had to reluctantly admit that they looked good together; they looked like the happy, wealthy couple on a vacation that they were supposed to be and didn’t look anything like what they actually were; two people with a violent history of distrust.

They were booked in for the executive class seats on the plane; specious, comfortable seats that Lisa had never been able to afford. She couldn’t help the anxiety build in her as they got on the plane, Jackson walking behind her down the aisle.

“Do you want the window seat this time, _dear_?” he asked condescendingly from behind her, leaning in to say it privately, using the cover term of endearment.

“Funny, but no, I insist you take it,” she said back, feigning courtesy. To anyone else overhearing it would be a regular conversation; who gets the window seat; but for them it was something else.

He grinned at her, helping her put her carryon bag in the overhead compartment as he did the last time.

“Thanks,”

“Not a problem,” he said, sliding past her to sit in his seat.

She took an apprehensive seat, trying to look calm and collected; trying to look like Laura O’Bannon would if she was on vacation with her husband, leaning her body slightly towards him. She smiled warmly at the people who walked by them on the way to their seats and chatted pleasantly with the flight attendant that checked in on them.

Liz and Colato walked past them, Liz winked at her and Lisa smiled back, pleased to have her friend on this mission with her. Colato tried his best to not to glare at them, instead giving them the normal look anyone would give to people already seated. There was a hold up in the line, probably someone trying to put a bag overhead, and they were stuck with Colato, Liz and a young couple standing at their seats.

Lisa groaned inwardly; this was awkward enough on planes, even more so when in this situation.

Jackson took advantage of the situation, giving Colato a smug grin before he leaned in and kissed Lisa lightly on the exposed skin of her collar. Lisa forced herself not to roll her eyes at the dick move and instead tried to play the part. Pushing him away would risk their cover, or that’s what she told herself as she leaned her head ever-so-slightly to the left, giving him permission to place another kiss higher up on her neck, which he did. She focused on not shuddering at the feel of his lips on her skin, the pressure and warmth of them, the feel of the tip of his tongue pressing between his lips.

She felt bad for Colato, who looked like he wanted to strangle Jackson. Liz tried her best to stand looking in the other direction, but Lisa knew she caught some of it and would tease her later for details. Jackson lifted his head from her neck, smiling smugly, knowing his action had the desired effect with Colato.

The young couple behind Colato smiled at them, “are you on your honeymoon too?” she asked happily.

Lisa placed her hand on Jackson’s thigh, trying to look affectionate. “No, but it is for our anniversary,” she lied easily, “four years,” she added.

The younger woman smiled broadly, “oh, how wonderful.”

The line started moving again, taking Colato and Liz out of her eyeline, “have a lovely honeymoon,” she wished the couple honestly, waving at them. The woman waved back as they were pushed further into the plane.

She waited until everyone had gotten on the plane, smiling at them as they wadded past, before she turned on Jackson.

“Really?” she asked, a tone of disapproval in her voice.

“What?” he asked innocently, a twinkle in his eye telling her he knew exactly what she was talking about.

“The neck thing, really,”

“He annoys me,” he said calmly, readjusting his tie needlessly, fidgeting.

“Well I don’t want to be in the middle of your pissing contest,” she said resolutely.

“That’s too bad Leese, because you are. It’s _about_ you,” he met her eyes.

“Oh please,” she said exasperatedly, scoffing his remark away.

“I love your modesty. It’s so earnest,”

“Glad to amuse you,”

“He likes you, and so do I. It pisses him off that I get to be near you on this mission. Get to touch you,” he said in a low voice, finger trailing up her arm.

“I’m not a prize to win or lose,” she snapped.

“I know that. And I also know that you’ll pick me,”

“My, aren’t we confident,” she said sarcastically, resolutely ignoring the little voice inside her that agreed with him. She was annoyed with him _and_ that little voice inside her; she would decide who to be with, she wasn’t a prize or an object. She wasn’t going to participate in any sort of male competition for her; she wouldn’t _pick_ anyone. She would just be herself.

“I know you want me,” he whispered into her ear, voice dropping.

He was close, too close, but wasn’t touching her; respecting her boundaries by the slightest amount possible. His face was near hers, near enough to kiss her neck; she could feel his breath. She was proud of herself for not shuddering, for not leaning into his presence. She would do her damndest to retain her composure. _Make him work for it,_ the little voice inside said.

She turned to look at him directly now, “I think you have it backwards, _you_ are the one that wants me,” she said, pushing her hand over his thigh and groping him through his pants. She was shocked by her own boldness, but pleased, even more pleased by the gasp he made at the contact; she felt him begin to stiffen and she smiled wolfishly at it.

Point. Match. She withdrew her hand and leaned back against the headrest of her seat.

“Mutual attraction,” he said, she gleefully picked up on the slight strain in his voice, “works for the both of us,”

“Whatever, Jackson,” she said, trying to end the conversation. She’d won this battle of wills. He pulled away and moved over to his side of the seat, relaxing into the soft material, a smug expression on his face.

“We’ll see Leese, we’ll see,” he said.

She didn’t say anything more, choosing to try and sleep for the flight, decidingly _not_ wanting a repeat of her last flight with Jackson and not wanting to talk about this anymore. She was irritated that he could read her so well, that he knew what she was thinking. She _did_ want him. But that didn’t mean she was going to have him. She’d spent the greater part of the past twelve hours either in his presence or thinking about him – and she was going to spend most of the next few days with him, she needed a break. A break from him, from _them_ whatever they were, and a break from her own thoughts, stuck in a constant loop of confusion. It was an eight-hour flight to Paris; she was going to spend most of that sleeping if it killed her.

 

\---

 

He’d spent a lot of his life on planes, most of it for business, and he’d never felt like he’d been on a longer flight in his life. Not even the first flight with Lisa, he at least had something to do then. Now he just sat here, near her but not with her. He’d watched two movies and read the newspaper that he brought on board. The movies had been decent and managed to distract him sufficiently enough.

Lisa had decided to sleep the majority of the flight, curling into the curve of the luxury seats with a pillow and blanket. He had been looking forward to talking to her, teasing her, sparring, swapping jabs, and flirting with her. He meant what he said, he was going to win her. He was going to show her that he could be worthy of her – even if he didn’t fully believe it. He’d already planned on seducing her, but he was a competitive man – needed to be in his business – and Colato challenged him; made his hackles rise. Rationally, Colato was decent, a good man by most people’s standards. If the man didn’t piss him the fuck off as much as he did, he might have stepped aside and allowed the man a chance with Lisa.

But that wasn’t the case. Jackson knew he was competitive and obsessive; not a good combination of traits in the best of times. He wasn’t a “catch”, what the world would determine was a good match for a woman of Lisa’s caliber; he lived in a moral grey zone, was an international criminal, new more ways to torture and kill a person than was probably healthy, etc, he could continue to list off the traits that made him an excellent man for his job, but a horrible man. But he could offer her some things; loyalty, honesty, financial security, the chance to see the world, excitement, and passion.

They had that last one in spades. He felt it when they were near each other; especially when they weren’t trying to kill each other, but even then. He could only imagine how intense they’d be if they gave into it. He was more confident now that she was attracted to him; the way she responded to him when he touched her, when he kissed her neck. He felt her pulse quicken, saw her lean into him; her eyes had darkened when she looked at him, her body loosening under his touch, not stiffening as she would have if she wasn’t enjoying it.

It was risky, kissing her like that. He’d made a plan; wanted to keep the physical stuff to a minimum for as long as possible. He needed to show her he could and would only ever do things with her permission. He did many horrible things, but never, that. Never. He needed her to understand that he would protect her and never cause her harm in any way. His mother had taught him about

She’d grown bolder in the years since he’d seen her; no longer satisfied in satisfying others, she had a brashness to her that he liked to think had always been there just put under lock and key from her earlier attack. The Lisa he knew on the plane would never have played him toe-for-toe with the flirtation like that, she never would have groped him so publicly to make a point. 

He liked this pushy Lisa. It was her pushiness that attracted him to her during the flight and he was pleased to see it was something intrinsic to her personality. 

 

\---

 

The department really had gone full out for this mission, the first class plane tickets and now this room, not to mention the very generous stipend she was given to purchase a dress for the gala this evening. The hotel room - well suite, was nicer than anything they had at the Lux, and they had some very nice rooms there.

"Back to your roots, Lees," Jackson teased, settling his bags on one of the beds.

"But this time I'm the difficult-to-please guest," she said with a smirk. She loved her job at the hotel, managing people and things was what she was good at - it was what she did now, but now she did something that mattered to her country, and she liked that. The feeling of making a more permanent difference in the world.

"But I'm feeling the impulse to check for rocket launchers," she added remembering how her hotel was ruined by one.

"Why Lees, in front of all these Agents? I don't think Colato would handle it very well," he teased with a wink.

Lisa just rolled her eyes; she walked into that one.

"Shut the fuck up Rippner," Colato said. He was setting up a computer station and Lisa eyed the arrangement of wires and devices that would be taped to her body within the next few hours.

As for the constant tension between Jackson and Colato, it was starting to get on her nerves. She knew why they hated each other; Jackson was an arrogant, intelligent and charming man who knew how to use everything he had to his advantage. Colato wasn't a bumbling idiot, he was quite handsome himself, but he was the kind of man who was a straight talker, liked people who said what they meant. Jackson liked to play games, manipulate, flirt ; for work or just for the fun of it and that behaviour easily got under Colato's skin. For Jackson's side of things, he hated what Colato represented, more than the man himself.

And he enjoyed annoying him. Lisa knew better than anyone the sick level if pleasure Jackson got from making someone miserable; he'd always said it was business and not personal, but someone didn't become that way without a predilection for abuse.

"We've got confirmation that Argent has arrived in the hotel," Agent Brasid reported from the connected room. The agency got them a large suite with a conjoining door that opened up into another room. The large suite was technically for her and Jackson, should they need the room for their cover. The rest of the agents, and their equipment, were squeezed into the other room.

"Rippner, Reisert, let's get started; lots to do," Liz ordered, clapping her hands.

They spent the next few hours preparing for the party happening in the hotel's ballroom. And by preparing, they meant having wires taped into places, getting grilled on the names, faces and relevant bio info about every party guest, _and_ all the normal work that went into a big event. They'd brought along a stylist - Marie - to do Lisa's hair and makeup, one of only two female agents on this mission, not including Lisa. The three of them had taken over the large bathroom, primping Lisa up like a celebrity and helping her get into the ridiculous dress they had selected for her to wear; mostly trying to make sure none of the spyware hidden in her underthings could be detected.

"You almost done in there?" Colato asked, knocking on the bathroom door.

"Yes yes ---, be right out. Takes a lot longer for ladies so shush," Marie, the stylist, said back.

She stepped back from Lisa to admire her work, "oh yes. We are ready," she said, a gleam on her face.

"You look gorgeous Lisa," Liz, said a kind smile on her face.

"God, Colato and Rippner really are going to lose it when they see you," teased Marie.

"We might even get a fight if we're lucky!" Liz added, smiling wickedly.

"Don't be ridiculous," Lisa said embarrassed. She turned to see both Marie and Liz give each other a meaningful look.

"What?"

"Oh Lisa. Lisa Lisa Lisa. Colato has had a crush on you for ages now," Liz explained, "and Rippner, well....you know my thoughts about you and him" she trailed off.

Lisa gave her a blank look; it wasn't exactly _shocking_ information, but she didn't think it was an actual thing; the Colato bit, she knew about Liz’s Jackson theories.

"She's right. I mean, I'm the new one here but those two men have been fighting over you the time we’ve been here. The great pissing contest." Marie chimed in.

Lisa gave them both a disapproving look. She expected this from Liz, the woman might be a terrifying agent, but she was ridiculously girly in private, loving gossip and discussing who of their coworkers they would sleep with or which ones they already had. Lisa hadn't really managed any of the latter. She didn't know Marie, but if her and Liz were going to spend the next 8 hours locked in this hotel suite, Lisa had a feeling she'd just earned herself a new friend.

"Myself, I'd just bang that Jackson of yours,"

"Marie!!" Lisa said, shocked. She’d just met the woman less than three hours ago.

"What? He's wicked sexy - those cheekbones could cut glass. If I was twenty years younger…..” she said, trailing off, giving a wiggle with her eyebrows. “But he’s totally into you and you like him too,"

Lisa glared at Liz and the other woman had the gall to both grin and hold up her hands in surrender, “I didn’t say a thing Lisa,”

“Oh, she didn’t,” Marie corroborated, “It’s just what I do, or used to do, I’m very good at details.”

"Well, then your skills are off because I do not like him.” she countered, knowing she was lying but hoping if she said it enough out loud it would become true.

Marie gave her a look, one that only older wiser women can give their younger counterparts. “Well you touch him far too often to be ‘not interested’ and all those glances, it’s like watching a teen drama,”

Lisa huffed. She did not do those things – except she totally did. She was irritated they’d not gone unnoticed. “Well, he held me prisoner on a plane remember," she countered.

Marie flicked her hand, pushing the idea away, "Psht. In this business, if you only sleep with people who haven't tried to kill you ... well, that's a really small list,"

Liz nodded in bashful agreement, "and sometimes that can make the sex even better; there's already a passion built up,"

Lisa made a mental note to ask her later for more details on _that_. She knew Liz had seen Tom for a few months after she found out who he was, or as she called it ‘her weeks of angry get-over-him hate-sex’.

"Ya, that passion is hate and distrust," Lisa said.

Both Marie and Liz shrugged. "Maybe. But if you want him, go climb that gorgeous man out there. Might help you move on, who knows."

"Or not, cause after this mission is over I'm pretty sure Colato _is_ going to ask you out so do what you gotta do," Liz said assuredly.

"You guys are the worst," Lisa said sarcastically. The things they said weren't that bizarre; she had been thinking similar thoughts about Jackson, and his cheekbones _were_ exquisite, but it didn't do any good to have those thoughts mirrored out loud by her friends. Cause of course she wanted to do those things and saying it out loud made her want to do it. She had no idea what she was going to do with Colato either; he _was_ handsome and she enjoyed spending time with him. Plus he was clearly a better choice…..

"We'd better get out there, they'll be breaking down the door soon," Marie said, opening the door and leading the group out.

Lisa’s eyes immediately fell on Jackson, dressed in a perfectly tailored tux, hair coiffed in that lazy-deliberate way he liked…..she was in trouble. She wanted to rip the expensive clothes off him and grab a chunk of that hair in her hands…… yes, Colato was definitely the better choice but _fuck_. Jackson.

“Well Lees, don’t you clean up nicely,” he said, giving her a very obvious once over with his eyes.

A light blush crept up her neck at his scrutiny, but she turned in a circle so he could get the full effect of the dress. She had to admit, Marie had excellent taste; the emerald green dress had a vintage feel to it, tailored and fit her like a glove, accenting everything she had to accent.

“You don’t look so bad yourself,” she said truthfully.

He grinned proudly, attempting to tie the bowtie at his neck. “Damn black-tie events.”

Her eyes followed his fingers as he adjusted the cloth, fighting the stereotypical urge to go and help him with it – which was always just an excuse in movies for people to be close to each other. She suddenly wondered if there was a scar left over from the pen she stabbed him with; she’d already noticed the audible rasp to his voice, but had the skin healed. He totally caught her staring, and must have known what she was thinking, because he gave her a wink as he tied the bow into place.

“There is a town car waiting down on the street to take you to the Scott estate. To review, you are to make contact with D’Argent and arrange the meetup and exchange of the intel,” Colato said, “fit in, socialize, _dance_ ” he continued, all but making a face when having to say dance.

“We have a few agents at the party as wait staff. They are plain-clothes and will approach you if needed. Your check-in is in 4 hours. Lisa, you know how to get in touch with us if needed, but should anything go wrong, we have the tracking dots we inserted earlier,”

That hadn’t been pleasant, Liz stabbing her with a giant compression needle in her arm. She was going to have a bruise, of that she was sure.

“Be safe and good luck,” Colato finished.

It wasn’t the best inspirational speech, but she’d never been on mission before so she didn’t know if they even did those in the FBI – probably not.

Jackson offered his arm to her and she took it, bending hers through his, thankful there was the fabric of his jacket in the way. He lead the way out of the room, away from the safety of the other agents, away from Liz’s protective friendship and into a night of uncertainty.

 

\---

 

The ballroom was gorgeous; the entire house was gorgeous, an antique that had been expertly maintained since its construction in the mid twentieth century. A towncar had picked Jackson and her up at the hotel and drove them across town to the home of Eileen and Richard LaFlame, an elderly couple who had dedicated a significant portion of their wealth to aid work and social justice efforts for the past fifty years. They had just been awarded with France’s highest honour for Samaritan work and were celebrating tonight with a gala benefiting their charity.

They were greeted warmly at the door by the wait staff and announced to the room as ‘Jack and Laura O’Bannon’. Their cover was of a wealthy young couple from the United States who made their money investing in Google as a startup. ‘Laura’ was a history professor and ‘Jack’ owned a prestigious art gallery; they were on a trip to celebrate their wedding anniversary and the couple had donated to the LaFlame’s charity for years and decided to come and finally meet the couple.

It was an event Lisa would have liked to have come to even if she wasn’t undercover. Her grandmother had taken her to the theatre every year, insisting that she dress up for it because that was how people attended the theatre when she was a child. She took Lisa to fancy restaurants and encouraged her to enjoy the elegance that was dotted on her. Her grandmother would have enjoyed this; she would have been the life of the party, charming her way through the attendees.

“What are you thinking?” Jackson leaned in to ask her, noticing the smile on her face.

“That my grandmother would have loved this,” she smiled wistfully.

“Well you’ll have to enjoy it for the both of you,” he said kindly.

They walked around the room casually, using the walk to the bar as an excuse to take in the space, the people. She was taking note of all the exits and windows and she was sure Jackson was doing the same.

“Any sign of Ramal?” she asked, smiling pleasantly at the people who walked past them.

“Not yet, still early though. He enjoys being fashionably late,”

“Red wine, please,” she requested of the bartender when they approached the table.

“Two,” Jackson said, putting up two fingers as if to clarify.

They took their glasses and turned back around to the party, “cheers,” he said raising his glass to hers.

“Cheers,” she replied, lightly tapping his glass and then taking a sip.

“Oh, that’s lovely,” she complimented.

“It’s their private estate wine,” he offered, head nodding towards the hosts who were laughing with a group of smartly dressed veterans.

She whistled, “that’s wealthy. Having your own vineyard.” When she worked at the hotel she’d met people who were excessively wealthy, several of whom had a vineyard or were at least invested in one. Wine and horses; the markers of the upper one percent.

“My mother has one,” Jackson commented quietly, looking into his wine glass. He wasn’t bragging, she knew _that_ tone well enough.

“Ya?”

“It was a gift of sorts from my father,” he began, an odd array of emotions coming over his face, “when she wanted to leave him,”

“They divorced?” she asked, fascinated. She knew almost nothing about his family and she was eager to know as much as she could, encouraged that he was opening up a little.

He gave a merciless small chuckle at her question, “No. You don’t _divorce_ my father.” He waved his hand as if pushing that story away, as if it was too long and complicated for now, halting her ‘why’ question before she had a chance to air it.

“So he bought her the vineyard as a symbolic gesture,”

“Where?”

“California,”

“Oh! Well that’s nice, do you see her much?”

He paused, face pained, “no,” he said definitively, clearly indicating he wanted to drop the conversation.

“You should go see her sometime,” she said, not letting him drop it that easily.

“Want to check out the silent auction?”

He nodded.

The silent auction, all proceeds going to charity of course, had some ridiculously elegant items up for bid: boats, trips, house rentals, artwork, jewelry, everything. She let her eyes roam the items, her attention lingering on an all-expense-paid historic tour of Turkey.

“Ever been?” Jackson asked. He was standing next to her, arm wrapped around her waist hand on her hip. She tried to not let herself dwell on how comfortable she felt.

“No, but I really want to,” she said with yearning, fingers trailing on the bidding form which she would be tempted to put a bid down for if she wasn’t undercover.

“It’s a beautiful country. If I thought it would impress you, I’d offer to buy it for you,” he said with a twinkle in his eye.

She rolled her eyes, “but you know it wouldn’t,”

“Nope. So difficult Leese, can’t shower you with my wealth,” he teased, smiling easily.

For a split second she let herself imagine what it would be like to let him; to take that trip to Turkey with him, to see the world, pretending they were at this event as themselves, as a couple.

“You that wealthy huh,” she teased back, pushing into his personal space. It would be too easy to let the fantasy continue, their rapport was too easy and she was quickly falling in love with his casual smile and the way his face transformed into a thing of beauty when he looked at her wistfully.

“Oh, y’know,” he said hedgingly, tilting his head back and forth, grinning at her.

She had wondered just how wealthy he was. Movies always made sauvé criminals like him seem incredibly wealthy and she’d learned since working for the Agency that that stereotype wasn’t that far off. Money didn’t impress her; she’d had plenty of rich men try and impress her at the hotel, trying to tempt her into their rooms that she’d learned to disdain the idea of opulent wealth. She was impressed by people who did good things _with_ their money.

“You do any good with that money or just help support your criminal empire?” she asked, a bit of the humour gone when she brought up what he actually was, reality threatening to spoil the evening.

“That’s for you to find out Leese. And I think you’ll find out I’m a very layered man,” he said saucily. He took her now empty wine glass and set it on an empty serving tray along with his.

“Dance?” he asked, eyebrows raised.

She nodded excitedly.

He pulled her out onto the dance floor where at least two-dozen other couples were dancing along to the old-fashioned music that matched the theme of the evening. It was a slow song and she immediately remembered who they were and why this might be a bad idea. He pulled her close, grasping her hand in his, putting his other hand on her waist. She put her hand on his shoulder, taking up the classic dance position, albeit much closer.

The music played, a soft jazzy number with a clarinet solo, and they swayed together in silence, pressed together. It was nice she thought, he smelled nice, his hands were soft and the pressure of his hand on her waist was pleasant. She let her eyes roam the room, looking over his shoulder. Her gaze fell on the LaFlame’s who were dancing across the room in kind. Her heart swelled at the image, two people who had persevered through all the struggles of a relationship and stayed together, working together for so long.

“Can you imagine, over fifty years together. Amazing,” she said with wonder.

He turned them so he could see what she was looking at. “Do you want that Lees?” he asked her quietly.

“Of course. Don’t you?” she answered quickly but without judgment. She did, she wanted to find someone to spend the rest of her life with. She wanted to grow old with them like the LaFlame’s did; she wanted people to think she was adorable when she was 80, still dancing with her doting husband.

He paused a bit before answering, “I haven’t thought about it in a long time. My line of work…that idea is a luxury.”

“That’s sad,”

“Men like me, we don’t deserve it,” he shrugged.

She halted, pulling back to look at him. She met horrible men in her life, men who did not deserve love, who didn’t deserve to see the light of freedom, who didn’t deserve to live…..but Jackson wasn’t one of them.

“Jackson,” she started but was interrupted by him, smiling sadly.

“Don’t worry about it Leese, I’m not trying to curry pity, it’s just a reality,” he said calmly.

She’d almost prefer if he had been trying to make her feel bad for him, it would have been preferable to the acceptance she saw on his face; he believed that he wasn’t worthy and that wasn’t okay.

She leaned up and put a gentle kiss on his lips, lingering longer than she should of. It wasn’t a passionate kiss, more of a kiss of support. She pulled back, her neck warm.

“There is goodness in you Jackson Rippner, I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think that,” she said honestly, not breaking eye contact. She needed to believe there was. His face was a mix of blankness and a swirl of emotions making him look confused.

Her eyes darted up over his shoulder, catching their query.

“There’s Ramal,” she said, wrapping her arm in his and heading in Ramal’s direction near the bar.

 

\---

 

“Ramal,” Jackson greeted coolly, extending his hand out to the other man. 

“Jackson,” Ramal said, accepting the offered hand and shaking firmly. Jackson judged people on the firmness of their handshake, and never trusted someone who gave him a limp fish shake. Ramal was many things, repugnant, greedy, lacking in any sort of moral line, but he had a firm handshake. 

Ramal looked awkwardly towards Lisa, who was still draped on his side like the loving wife she was pretending to be. 

“This is…Laura, my...wife,” he stumbled out awkwardly. He didn’t want Ramal to know who Lisa was but it was awkward using the cover. There was a reason he was a solo agent, especially when it came to undercover work. Lisa stuck her hand out to greet him. 

Surprise lit Ramal’s face, “Married. Wow. Never thought there would be a woman patient enough to put up with his bullshit,” 

Lisa laughed, smiling widely. “Well, what can I say, he stole my heart,” 

“And you his I’m sure. One of the things that made Jackson such a great hire is that he was infamously impervious to seduction by enemy agents. And I should know; I hired several to try,” Ramal said with a wink. 

“But I can regale you with stories later, we’re here for business,” he said with a finality in his voice, switching from the humourous tone to the strict business-like one. 

“Yes,” Jackson said, eager to get on with it. He did not want Ramal to “regail” Lisa with any stories; far from being embarrassing, they’d be straight up horrifying and he was trying to woo Lisa, not give her more reasons to run away from him like she rightly should. 

He tilted his head towards the hallway, leading Lisa there with Ramal following. This conversation was not one to have in such a public space. They found a secluded corner, close enough to the party to look like they were just taking a break from the loud music. 

“I have a client who is interested in some information you are in possession of,” Jackson said quietly, leaning into Ramal’s personal space. 

Ramal’s eyes darted between him and Lisa, uncertainty on his face. “Information of what nature?” he hedged. 

Jackson sighed inwardly. They were going to play this game. There was supposed to be an advantage to doing work with people you’ve already worked with; you could skip all this crap. 

“Ramal, the US military codes. Let’s stop beating around the bush,” he snapped, giving the man his trademark icy-stare. 

The man shuffled his hand in his pocket, the other emptying the contents of his wine glass into his mouth. 

“Rippner. You fucker, sorry about this,” he said, pulling a small revolver from his pocket. 

He felt Lisa’s grip tighten slightly where her hand was still resting on his arm, but she showed no emotion of her face. Jackson however, did. Anger and frustration. 

“Seriously?” he snapped, rolling his eyes. “What the fuck is this,” 

“You know I like you, we’ve had some good times,” Ramal said, beginning to sweat, “but I owe them. And my debt is paid if I deliver you….and her to them,” he tipped the gun in Lisa’s direction. 

“You seem real nice lady, but this is what you get for marrying this guy, if you’re even his wife, I don’t know...and I don’t care,” he threatened in a whisper, his resolve strengthening. 

“Come, this way,” he said, pointing the gun down the hallway towards the service entrance. 

Jackson sighed but followed the instructions, holding onto Lisa’s arm like they were taking a casual walk. He tried to find a moment where he could overpower Ramal, but the man knew what he was doing, standing just far enough away to prevent Jackson from doing what he was planning. 

“Who is doing this?” Jackson asked, knowing he wasn’t likely to get any answers out of Ramal. 

“LaCroix,” he said after a pause.

“Shit,”

They were guided through a series of hallways and then through the kitchen delivery area that these old houses always had. The hallways were conspicuously empty, meaning this had been planned and people had been paid off to stay out of these hallways. He silently hoped that the agents would have noticed their absence and be looking for them. 

A kitchen staffer opened up a large door where another man stood, a larger gun clearly visible at his side. He opened the door to the van sitting idle motioning for them to get inside. They had no option but to do so, their wrists bound behind their backs with plastic tags before they climbed in, mouths gagged. Panic started to build in his stomach as the van drove away from the party. The night was not going to plan. This shouldn’t be happening. He hated when his carefully crafted plans went to hell. 

He tried to give Lisa a comforting look, from his seat across her in the van, but still trying to look bored to the four armed men sitting with them. She looked calm, the way she bit her lip the only sign of distress. He realized that this wasn’t her first time in this type of situation; she was probably as used to it as he was….almost. They had different experiences with confinement. His had always been business, her’s had been personal and insidious. But she’d survived them and she would survive this as well. 

They didn’t drive for very long, maybe twenty minutes, the van stopping abruptly in a quiet part of the city. They were roughly pushed out of the van and he quickly took in the new location; dark, isolated, large buildings - a warehouse industrial district. Perfect for crime. He sighed as they were guided into a large empty warehouse, their footsteps echoing in the darkness. 

He was frustrated with himself, he’d felt something wasn't right; this whole mission hadn't been quite right from the start, but there hadn't been anything deliberately obvious. Until of course the moment Ramal turned a gun on them. That was not supposed to happen and he’d make sure Ramal suffered for it when they got out of this. And they would get out of this. He'd made a career out of following his gut, it had kept him alive more times than he was comfortable admitting.

The men took out their gags and unbound their arms; he rubbed his wrists, trying to encourage the blood to resume flowing to his hands. They were left standing alone in the middle of the room. 

“You know what’s going on?” she asked him quietly from her position next to him. 

“No,” he answered mostly honestly. He had his suspicions, he actually had a pretty good idea of who was actually behind all this, but he didn’t want to reveal it yet, he didn’t know who else was listening. 

“That’s reassuring,” she said sarcastically. But that's an awfully emotional response there _Jack_ , your fact-based logic failing you now?" She shot heatedly.

He gave her a cold look.

"Well, _I_ think I'm funny," she whispered to herself. 

Whomever they were supposed to be meeting knew they were here _and_ they made them wait. It was a dick power move, one he'd made on several occasions. It was one thing to do it to others.....but experience it himself, it was irritating.

They stood there for at least five minutes, neither of them saying anything, until finally two large men Jackson didn't recognize came around a corner. The men were unarmed, but based on the size of them, they didn't need weapons to inflict damage. Jackson couldn't help the snarl he let out as they manhandled Lisa, searching her for weapons. They ran a long white tube over her body, it blinked when it ran over her lower ribs. The tracker.

"Don't worry, we'll play nice with your little toy here. Wouldn't want to _damage_ anything," the larger one threatened.

It was _unlikely_ they'd hurt Lisa just because, but he ran in this world long enough that they would hurt her to get to him. He needed to restrain himself, they didn't need to know that she was the ace in the hole, that he'd give over anything - any classified information, even his own life, to keep her safe. If they thought she was just a _pretty thing_ her odds of survival would increase exponentially.

"See that you do. And besides, it's not her I'm worried about. It's you. She's rather vicious when it comes to her personal space."

They did him next, treating him with the same brutishness they did her, grinning at his discomfort. “Would you mind the fabric _please_ ,” he said distain dripping in his voice.

They ignored him, the larger one nodding to someone in the shadows. A man in a lab coat walked towards them, pushing a metal surgical tray in front of him. Jackson’s stomach sank, filled with worry for Lisa. He’d been tortured before, he’d survive it…he wasn’t sure Lisa would. Not that she wasn’t strong enough, but that she’d never really endured the type of pain men in his world liked to enact on their enemies. He cast a look at her, her face paling as the instruments came into light.

“If you’d please,” the man in the coat said politely as if they were here of their own volition about to get a vaccine, gesturing to the men.

They pulled Jackson over to the doctor first, ripping up the sleeve on his jacket, exposing the underside of his arm where the agency had injected his tracker. They pushed him into a chair and strapped his arm down before the doctor came at him with a knife. Jackson braced himself, but it was relatively okay; the man used an antiseptic wipe before hand and clearly knew what he was doing, barely making an incision and then sewing him up with care. Whomever D’Argent was working for wanted them in one piece or they would have just brutally ripped out the trackers without a care for hygiene.

They did Lisa next, pulling her over to the chair. She gritted her teeth while the doctor did the same to her, and he was proud that she didn’t flinch. She kept her gaze locked on his the whole time, face as passive as she could manage as they sewed her up. Despite the situation he was proud of her; he knew she was tough, but he was glad to see she could handle this – boded well for whatever might come at them next. She was a fighter.

The trackers were put in a dish and taken away by the doctor, probably to be flushed. So much for rescue if they needed it. He didn’t care much for himself, he was usually able to talk his way out of anything; but now he was responsible for Lisa and if she got injured or died on this mission, he’d never forgive himself.

They stood around waiting for a few moments, he stood near Lisa, fighting every impulse to make sure she was okay, to run his hands over her arms and check for himself. He tried to give her a reassuring look. She smiled back mildly.

“Jackson Rippner,” a loud voice called from the back of the warehouse.

“D’Argent,” he said with disdain, recognizing the voice before seeing the man’s face, “surely this is a bit excessive,” hands moving to indicate the room

“Oh, perhaps,” he laughed, “can never be too careful though,”

“You know why we’re here,” Jackson said getting straight to business.

“Isn’t this the woman that beat the crap out of you on that plane,” D’Argent inquired walking up to Lisa, extending his hand to her.

She accepted it, “Lisa Reisert,”

“The woman who beat Rippner, damn. And she’s pretty too,” he said and Jackson wasn’t sure to whom he was saying it.

“What’s a girl like you doing with a guy like him?” he asked to Lisa with a nod towards Jackson.

Jackson tried not to bristle, focused on maintaining his composure.

“He made me an offer I couldn’t refuse,” Lisa replied coolly.

“That what you do now Rippner, hire the people who beat you?”

He turned sharply towards D’Argent, “better to have them working for me than against me,”

D’Argent shrugged at that, turning his attention back towards Lisa. “Bet you get a little bit of side action too, eh Rippner,” he said lecherously.

Jackson didn’t dignify it with a response.

“Y’know, Ms Reisert,” he said running a finger up her arm, “I can offer you better than him…in _many_ ways, a _bigger_ payoff for your troubles,”

How Lisa didn’t gag as he touched her he didn’t know, but it was all he could do to not snap the man’s hand off.

She grabbed D’Argent’s hand, pulling it off her arm, “thank you for the offer, but no thanks,”

“You sure,”

“Yes. He’s prettier. And I assure you I’m very satisfied with my current position under him,” she said sternly, playing at his euphemistic game.

There was a silent pause as D’Argent tried to gauge the relationship between them, concern on his face before he broke out laughing.

“She’s spunky Rippner, I like spunky. Far too good for you obviously,” he said jovially.

He sighed loudly and clapped his hands on his thighs, “well, down to business.” He pulled out a gun and trained it on Jackson.

“There is quite the bounty on you, Rippner. Dead or alive.”

Jackson’s stomach fell. He wasn’t counting on this. Ramal was a sure thing – or so he’d thought. This was not the plan. Fucking D’Argent. Fucking Ramal. The gears started shifting in his mind, trying to figure a way to get him and Lisa out of this.

“Personally, I’d like you dead. Little pissant in my life. But I’m not here for you - _you_ are a bonus. It’s Ms Reisert here that is the real gold mine,” he said, turning the gun on Lisa.

“Me?” she asked innocently.

“Yup, you’ve made quite the name for yourself taking down this little shit. There are people who want to meet you,” he said waving to a man behind him who brought him a cellphone.

“I have them sir,” he said into the phone followed by a few more “uhuns” and “I understands” and “yes sir”

Jackson glanced at Lisa, she seemed calm, for which he was glad. But he knew she would be a pro at this; he’d fallen for her resourcefulness, her ability to adjust and thrive regardless of the situation. He couldn’t have fallen in love with a woman who couldn’t handle his world. She might not want to be in his world, but she’d thrive in it, he was sure of that. 

D’Argent pulled the phone away from his ear and held out to Lisa, “he wants to speak with you,” he said with a menacing grin on his face. 

 

\--- 

 

Lisa reached out and took the phone, beginning to pull it to her ear. 

“Speakerphone,” D’Argent added. 

She nodded slightly and let the phone rest in her outstretched arm. 

“Hello?” she ventured. 

“Ms Reisert, what a pleasure to meet you,” a deep, pleasant sounding voice said on the other end of the line. It had a mild French accent, as if the owner of it had studied to remove the thickness of its natural accent. 

“To whom am I speaking?” she asked, trying to match the polite tone in his voice. If he wanted her for some reason, that meant she had some power, some wiggle room. Best not to reduce that room by being rude. 

“My name is Monsieur Montague and I am quite interested in meeting you,” 

“Why?” 

“Oh, these are issues for a much longer conversation. I have arranged a car to bring you to my chalet, you’ll be much more comfortable here and we can have a nice long chat,” he said warmly. 

She could already tell he was dangerous; men who talked so nonchalantly about kidnapping people as if he was inviting her to lunch instead of what was actually happening had a level of delusion and absolute power that made for a dangerous mix. Plus, if he was half as charming in real life as his voice would indicate, she could understand how he retained his power. 

“Um, alright,” she said having absolutely no idea what to say in return. She erred with the side of doing what would keep her alive longer and she clearly didn’t have a choice here. If she refused, she’d be shoved into a car and brought to him anyways. Might as well cooperate for the time being. 

“Excellent!” he said, delight in his voice. 

“D’Argent, you can have Rippner now, thank you for your service,” the voice said

“No,” she blurted out, panic filling her. She wasn’t going anywhere without Jackson, let alone further into a foreign country with a man she didn’t know at all, never to be heard from again. 

“No?” Montague asked, surprise in his voice. 

“Rippner comes with me,” she said, hoping her voice sounded bold. “We have...unfinished business,” 

Montague sighed, “very well, bring _him_ along. I’ll see you in a few hours.” 

The call dropped and Lisa handed the phone back to D’Argent who looked pissed. She just shrugged as his eyes burned at her, smiling smugly at her win over him. It was a small win, but she’d take it. 

“He must be a good fuck for you to risk that,” he said darkly. “No one demands things of Montague,”

“Well, like you said, he’s a good fuck. Those are hard to find,” she snapped back. 

He huffed and cast a look of disgust at Jackson, “you’re lucky Rippner, she just saved your ass. I’ll get my due later; you survive this and I’ll be there….” he threatened. 

Jackson gave one of his best shit-eating grins and Lisa rolled her eyes. He always pushed the line. 

 

\----

 

His attitude had only worsened the further they drove; she could physically see his anxiety rise, his body tensing, lips pursed. She thought he looked outwardly calm, well calm enough, but to her she could see the cracks starting to form. They'd left them uncuffed, which was nice, but also unnerving. These people weren't stupid; it was a power move, showing them how in control they were by giving them the illusion of comfort.

They'd been driving for nearly an hour and she'd let herself relax, going through her anxiety steps to bring her heart rate down. She'd spent enough years dealing with anxiety on a daily basis that she had gotten adept at handling it. She'd spent the first thirty minutes of the car ride in high alert, her blood pumping, mind racing. But she rationalized maintaining that alertness was only going to drain her energy that much quicker and it had already been a long day - she needed to reserve whatever she had left. So she had calmed down.

Jackson did not. The reverse, his natural calm demeanour worsening the longer they drove. She reached a hand out and wrapped her fingers lightly around his right hand, where it had been tapping inconsistently against his thigh. She saw him jump at the contact, probably a mix of being startled and the knowledge of _who_ it was coming from. She wasn't sure why she did it, she hated him, she shouldn't care that he was uncomfortable, she should be glad he was. But that was against her nature. It felt right.

His eyes moved from the window to their joined hands, then up to her face. A confused, stressed look graced his beautiful face. She smiled lightly, squeezing his hand in hers, trying to tell him it would be okay. He returned the smile, shifting his hand to entwine their fingers, squeezing her back gently.

They stayed like that for sometime, he resumed his gaze out the window and she the other window. He seemed more relaxed now; still tense, but calmer, he'd replaced the tapping with rubbing his thumb along the outside of her hand in lazy circles. It had the added bonus of calming her down as well, in addition to making her feel other things which she was not willing to think about in that moment. His hand was warm and soft, but strong; she tried not to think of what those hands had done, the lives they'd ruined. Instead she focused on how gently he held her hand.

Apparently she dozed off, the back seat of the car was warm as was Jackson's hand wrapped around hers, the rocking motion lulling her into a light sleep.

"Lisa," she heard him whisper and she felt him run his other hand through her hair. "Lisa, we're almost there,"

She roused, forgetting a moment where she was, comforted by the warm body she was laying against. Her head was on his shoulder, their bodies touching from shoulder to knee. She felt a little bit awkward, falling asleep on him like that. She turned her head to apologize, but stopped when she saw the look on his face.

He looked ill, the colour drained from his skin. He smiled at her, warmth in the expression as well as tightness. The car rolled onto a gravel pathway and then stopped

"Are you okay?" She asked quietly, genuinely concerned.

His lips pursed, gaze flicking up to the men getting out of the front of the car.

"No. Just um, well whatever happens today promise me you'll give me a chance to explain," he whispered in a rushed breath, leaning in to her ear.

She was still sleepy; she wanted to stay here where it was warm. _With him_ she thought in the back of her mind, but she pushed that down. But reality was crashing in and she had to wake; she nodded her agreement just before he dropped her hand that he'd been clasping for how long she didn't know. She felt the loss immediately, the loss of the warmth of his skin and the strength she pulled from him. It had meant to be a gesture of support for him, but she’d found comfort in it too; as if whatever was ahead of them they were facing it together.

She climbed out of the car behind him and for the first time looked around at where they were. In front of her was one of the biggest, gorgeous houses she had ever seen. The word palatial came to mind.

“Whoa,” she said aloud.

“Yeah,” Jackson grimaced at her side.

She turned briefly to look at him, the pained expression still on his face, like this was the last place he wanted to be, like he’d been here before.

“How –“ she started.

“Later,” he whispered, a pleading look on his face.

She nodded and fell silent, staring back at the house. The car had pulled onto a long gravel road, miles of grass and farmland stretched out around the house. The house was old, but well maintained if the outside was any indication. There was vines all over the beautiful stonework, wooden shutters on the windows that went up four stories. She tried to recall her undergrad European history classes, wanting to place the house; if she had to guess it was at least 200 years old, if not a bit older.

The two men from the car waited silently behind them, saying nothing, their hands firmly on their side arms. Three other men and a woman came towards them from the house, all looking very professional.

“Ah, Ms Reisert, so lovely to meet you in person,” the oldest of the three men said, extending his hand in greeting, “I’m David,”

She shook it, for lack of a better idea. She recognized his voice, he was the person she spoke briefly on the phone with before Mr Montague.

“Mr Montague is eager to meet you,” David said, meeting Jackson’s eyes before turning back to her, gesturing for them to walk with him towards the house. The guards remained at the car and Lisa felt like she had just been passed over to a new babysitter, the two new men

“he is occupied with a meeting at the moment, but he has instructed me to show you to your rooms,” he said warmly.

The large doors opened and they walked through the entryway into an expansive front room; stone floors and stone pillars shaped the room and several large paintings hung in the large room, making it feel even more antique. Lisa had to reluctantly admit to herself that she was impressed, and all she’d seen was the front.

David escorted them up a wide, winding set of stone stairs that led to the second floor and down a hallway with lush red carpeting and tapestries on the wall; most of the art seemed to be from one period, but there were a few pieces from more modern artists that reminded Lisa that it was currently lived in.

“This wing is for our guests,” David said.

Lisa rolled her eyes. _Guests_ is that what they were? Kidnapped and driven out to the middle of the French countryside, trackers dug out of their arms. This wasn’t how most people treated their guests.

“And I can assure you Ms Reisert that we have very happy to have you here,” he said, once more giving the barest of glances to Jackson, ignoring him for the most part.

David carried on a casual conversation with Lisa for the remainder of their walk, telling her about the house and its history. She felt very much like Belle in _Beauty and the Beast_ with David as her Lumiere. She’d assumed Jackson was her Beast, but the unnerving courtesy of Montague’s house staff made her think there was something worse than Jackson in this building. This feeling was only amplified by David’s complete disregard of Jackson; the man had barely acknowledged his presence, but their exchange had the feel of familiarity to it. Lisa was confident now that not only had Jackson been here before, but that he knew these people well.

She turned her gaze to look at him, his earlier fidgeting under control, the whiteness gone from his face. Now what remained was the stoic, cold man she’d had the misfortune to meet on that plane ride years ago. He caught her staring at him, his eyes meeting hers; they lacked the warmth she’d apparently gotten accustomed to in the past two days. No humour in his face, not even the barest recollection that she was anything special. Just a cold professional stare. It made her shudder.

“Ah, here we are. We’ve given you our best guest room,” David said, sliding the key card through the corresponding small black box on the wall next to the two-door entryway. The modern lock system was out of place against all the stone and wood; so much effort put into retaining the classic look of the house, but such a modern addition was jarring to see.

The room was gorgeous, as she expected it to be after the tour she’d gotten. A massive bathroom, walk in closet, a lounge area before the main room for tea….and one bed. She paused as she entered the actual bedroom portion of the bedroom.

“We weren’t sure whether you would prefer one bedroom or two….” he hedged.

Fear shot through her; fear that they assumed they were a couple and would be expected to share the same bed. She shot a terrified glance at Jackson, who was still stoic but had the decency to throw her a concerned look.

“Actually, David –“ he said, intending to clarify.

She reached out and grabbed his arm, stopping him.

“One bedroom will be fine, thank you David,” she said trying to sound warm, smiling at him.

As scared as she was at having to share a bed with Jackson (and what that might lead to), she realized she was _more_ terrified of staying in this room alone. Jackson was a known entity and she trusted him to some degree; certainly more than she trusted these people. Having him in the room with her was a comforting thought; she wouldn’t be alone in this large house with these unknowns. Better the devil you know than the devil you don’t. It was a gamble, but one she had to make. She didn’t fear an attack from Jackson; her safety wasn’t at risk with him. Not anymore.

She leaned into Jackson’s body to add effect and David seemed to accept what she said, giving them a judging look. His disdain for Jackson was palpable and no doubt her pretending to be sleeping with him made David’s opinion of her drop a bit.

“Excellent,” he said, rubbing his hands together as if he just finished the dusting. “Mr Montague has invited you to join him for breakfast at eight hundred hours. Until then I’ll let you freshen up,” he said heading towards the door. He turned back before the door, “meal will be in the Dalby Room,” he said, directing it at Jackson, who gave a curt nod.

David left them, shutting the door behind him, the click of the lock reminding her of a hotel. Then it was just them; alone. Silence filled the air, it was awkward which was unusual, things had been many things between them but they hadn’t been awkward. Lisa moved to walk around the room a bit, fingers trailing along the beautiful wooden vanity, touching all the grooves and filigree. She kept an acute eye on Jackson, watching him out of the corner or her vision. He hadn’t moved; standing stoically in the middle of the room, his attention clearly focused elsewhere. She let him process whatever he needed to process, content to explore the room a bit more.

She’d barely gotten around the perimeter of the room when she heard him curse.

“Fuck,” he said quietly. And she heard him flop down on the bed.

The sight would have made her laugh had the situation not been what it was. Jackson, tall, dark, dangerous Jackson, flopped down on his back on the bed, arms spread, suit jacket getting wrinkled under him. She grinned despite herself.

She didn’t say anything, just leaned up against the armoire, staring at him.

“Fuuuuck,” he said again as a deep sigh.

“So….” she hedged, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

He raised his head off the bed to look at her across the room, sighing again before laying back down.

“Well, you’ve probably already figured out that they know me here,” he said.

“Yes, they seem to dislike you pretty intensely. What’d you do to them?” she asked. She had a more biting insult on her tongue, but this didn’t feel like the time for it.

“It’s what I _didn’t_ do,” he said after a long silence. “I grew up here. Montague is my father,” he explained.

She stared at him, shocked. Rationally she knew he had parents, she’d just never really thought about them and when she did she figured they were regular people, horrible parents probably and Jackson was a horrible child. But she’d never thought his parents might be international criminals.

“So it’s a family business,” she said mock teasingly and she was rewarded with a small smile from him.

“In a manner of speaking, yes,” he said dryly.

“What _didn’t_ you do then to anger him so?”

“Oh a bunch of things,” he said, sitting up, resting his chin in his hands. He gazed out the window, not really looking as he spoke. “I didn’t want to go into the business at first, I really liked architecture and I wanted to go to design school,”

She smiled at the confession, eager to learn more about him and his childhood, his dreams before he turned into the monster she knew.

“But _he_ had other plans,” Jackson said, spitting out the pronoun. “Making a long story short, I resisted his _methods_ and ended up joining the ranks of one of his allies just to piss him off,”

His use of the word ‘methods’ made her shudder, men like Jackson weren’t born they were made and she’d met enough vicious men in her life to have an idea of what Montague might have done to his son. She felt angry and frustrated; that any child would have to be abused and she wondered who Jackson might have grown up to be if he’d not been raised here. Would they still have met?

“Bet that worked well,” she said sarcastically.

He grinned, “it did. I haven’t seen him in seven years.”

She’d say that was sad if he didn’t seem so happy about it. Made sense why he was almost ill when it was clear they were coming here.

“And then there was you,” he said turning his gaze on her.

“Me?”

“That job two years ago, my spectacular fail, it was all quite public. He wasn’t happy with me. Said it “exposed” us,” he said, a sadness on his face.

“Did it?” she asked, illogically feeling guilty for any trouble she might have caused him.

“Oh yeah,” he said. “You made quite the mess of things,” he looked at her smiling, a look of pride on his face and she couldn’t help feel a bit of unabashed pride at his words. Little ol’ her had made a ring of criminals and terrorists angry. That elation only lasted a second before the reality of those words sunk in.

“Why didn’t any of them try and kill me?” she wondered aloud.

“Ah, there were a few plans to get back at you,” he confessed, “but they didn’t go anywhere. They were angry at me anyways, not you,” he said hedging.

“It’s almost eight,” he said changing the conversation. He got off the bed and walked towards her.

“Montague, he’s charming and horrible, be wary of him,” he warned, a sick look on his face.

She nodded in understanding.

“I’m nothing compared to him,” he clarified. “He doesn’t have…..boundaries,”

He was almost close enough for her to touch him, the urge to do so was almost overwhelming. Generally speaking the thing the monster is afraid of is ten times worse than the monster himself. He looked pained.

“Act like you hate me,” he said, “well more than you do,”

“I don’t hate you,” she said softly, surprised that she meant it. She _didn’t_ hate him; she felt a lot of things for him, not all of them good, but not hate.

She saw his face shudder with an array of emotions before he leaned in and kissed her. It was over before she really had a time to respond; the firmness of his lips gone a second after they were there.

“Shit, sorry Lees,” he said beginning to step away.

She shot a hand out and grabbed his arm, halting him, pulling him back towards her. It was her turn to kiss him now, leaning in and pushing up on her toes to meet him. This kiss lasted longer, he responded immediately, pushing a hand around her neck and the other down her side. She wrapped her arms around his neck as the kiss increased in heat, opening her mouth to his; it didn’t have any of the gentleness of a traditional first kiss, this was all passion and pent-up-aggression, but then they weren’t a traditional couple so what did it matter. His lips were warm and soft, better than she had imagined they would be. It felt good to have him pressed up against her, she could smell the last remnants of his cologne from last night; feel his arousal pressed against her hip as they leant up against the armoire. She lifted her leg slightly, the tall slit in the dress allowing it, shifting so his hips could rest more solidly against her. He moaned at her action, hand running up her exposed thigh to rest of her hip. She knew then she was doomed, her body aflame from the contact, wanting to take it further, to get to know all of him. To see all of him.

The need for air forced them to pause, breathing deeply as they stood together, leaning against each other.

“Don’t do that in front of him, won’t convince you hate me,” he joked.

She gave a small chuckle, taking stock of their positions; no it certainly wouldn’t. Her hands had moved to his belt at some point, probably the moment she realized she was going to sleep with him, and she’d had it partially undone. Her dress had been pushed up a bit, his hands on her skin.

“It’s almost eight,” she said, beginning to right herself.

He nodded and moved away from her, adjusting his clothing in the mirror.

She turned to face the armoire, breathing deeply, trying to get herself under control, attention still focused on the man in the room, her body still humming. She shook herself, making herself focus. This wasn’t the time to turn into a randy seventeen year-old who couldn’t control her feelings. She’d been kidnapped , _again_ , and needed to concentrate.

“This is going to be the weirdest meet-the-parents ever,” she joked.

He smiled at that, laughing lightly. “Wait until you meet my mother,” he said jokingly.

She instantly began to wonder about his mother again; Was she still alive? Did Jackson love her? Was she kind? Would she like her? She didn’t have time to ask those questions though, cause he came up to her, not touching though.

“He’s going to try and use you against me, in whatever way he can. Implications, insults, anything,” he warned and she shuddered at what that could mean.

“I don’t think he’ll hurt you, at least not right away. We’ll learn what he wants first,” he said, the cool professional starting to emerge.

He must have realized she was freaking out a bit, because his gaze softened and he put a comforting hand on her forearm. “I’ll do everything I can to keep you safe Leese, I promise,” he said and for some reason she believed him. She nodded.

“Don’t take anything personally, okay,” he said, a pained expression on his face.

“Ah, so Mean Airplane Jackson is coming back,” she surmised, dryly.

A sad grimace came over his face, “he brings out the worst in me. And I said I’d protect you, this is how I can. Promise me you won’t get angry over it; you can get angry later just not then,” he asked, standing close to her.

“I promise,”

 

\---

 

They walked the halls and stairs back to the main floor, winding through a few rooms to enter the large room designed for breakfast. Lisa knew from years of studying European history that estates like this would have a seperate, much larger and grander room for dinner. Still, as they entered the room, she couldn’t help but gauke at the beauty of it; classically decorated like the rest of the house, beautiful paintings and furniture. She hated herself for being impressed. 

Jackson stood close to her the entire way to the room, close but not touching. She’d felt him draw further into himself as they enter the room, his cold mask disguising his face. His eyes were blank when she met his gaze, uncertain, and she startled, terror building in her stomach at being face-to-face with the man that had terrorised her. She knew her shock showed on her face, Jackson’s glare telling her as much. 

She breathed, focusing on the task at hand. She was supposed to act like she hated him, and if he kept up this persona she’d have no trouble keeping that up. It was unsettling to see this side of Jackson again; the memory of being pressed up against him dancing just a few hours earlier flashed in her mind; the smell of his cologne, the warmth of his hands. The fact that she’d been attracted to him. 

Shaking herself mentally, pushing the memory away, she arranged her features in what she hoped was a look of irritation and disdain, turning towards the interior of the room. 

A man rose from the end of a long table, coming around it to greet them. 

“Lisa Reisert, lovely to meet you, I’m John Montague,” he said warmly, shaking her hand. 

Everyone had been ‘pleased’ to meet her and it grated on her. It was fine when it was the people whose lives she helped save, but these people wanted something from her; were only ‘pleased’ to see her because of some messed up desire to see Jackson suffer. 

“Wish I could say the same,” she replied tartly. 

He laughed, a warm friendly laugh, “I do regret our meeting is under such unpleasant circumstances..”he said leading off with a meaningful long glance at Jackson. She saw him roll his eyes at his father. 

“I’m sure Jackson has informed you of our….relation,” 

“Yes, and I can see the family resemblance,” she said. It was true, she could, but just barely. Montague was a handsome man, very handsome, but a more classic Sean Connery handsome. He had strong features, a nose that had been broken and not repaired quite right gave him a rugged look and a square jaw, covered in a meticulously manicured stubble. Jackson was beautiful, his features delicate and exquisite, and Lisa figured he must take after his mother in that regard. But it was the eyes, his father had the exact same eyes as Jackson; light blue pools that could suck a person in. 

She was struck by how the same feature could look so different on two different faces. Jackson’s eyes hardened his face, giving him a sense of danger and intensity. On Montague, the eyes softened his features, making him seem kind. It was no doubt that very combination helped make him a dangerous and successful man. 

“Please, sit,” he said warmly, gesturing to the long table. “I’ve taken the liberty of ordering for you. Stella makes an absolutely perfect breakfast, you must try her hollandaise,” 

“She is very good,” Jackson said calmly and Lisa flicked her gaze to him as they sat around the table. Montague sat at the head of the table near the windows, and Lisa took the offered seat next to him, Montague pulling out her chair for her like a gentleman; Jackson sat on her other side. 

A sharply dressed man came in the room, carrying plates of their breakfast on a large serving tray. He placed a large plate down in front of each of them and another server placed carafes of juice and coffee in the middle of the table. 

“Coffee?” Montague asked her.

“Please,” she said, welcoming the coffee. She’d been up for way too long, her brain and body running solely on adrenaline; she needed coffee. 

“Jackson, help the lady would you,” he said, a bite to his tone. 

Lisa caught the barest crinkle of irritation at the corner of his eyes, but Jackson obeyed nonetheless, pouring Lisa a cup of coffee, adding cream. She withheld a sigh as she took a big sip; it was perfect. She didn’t focus on how Jackson knew how she liked her coffee; of course he knew.  
“Eat,” Montague said, digging into his own food. 

She didn’t really care whether Stella’s hollandaise was good or not, and she wanted to protest having to go through this. But the hollandaise _was_ fantastic, the whole meal was, and not for the first time did she think that with the exception of the kidnapping, it was almost like staying at a hotel. She also vaguely thought that the food could have been drugged and she shouldn’t be so blind in her consumption of it. But they could hold her down and drug her, so there was no need to do it with food, she rationalized, reluctantly enjoying the meal. 

“So, Lisa, tell me about yourself,” Montague said, the warm tone in his voice making her feel uncomfortable. 

“What do you want to know?” she asked, wishing he’d just tell her what he wanted. She didn’t feel the need to forfeit any information about herself or to make pleasantries. 

“I’d just like to know a little bit more about the woman Jackson has brought home,” 

Lisa blanked. The man was acting as if this was a normal introduction of the parents to the girlfriend. She was getting all the awkwardness without any of the fun.

“You brought us here,” Jackson cut in, his tone sharp. 

She was annoyed with him; he’d warned her that he wouldn’t be ‘himself’, and so she was expecting the arrogant asshole she’d endured before. Instead she got a man who all but shut down in the presence of his father. She could read between the lines and infer that their relationship hadn’t been loving, probably abusive and she tried to give Jackson some slack for not being more vocal. She had her defences up though, her adrenaline running, she didn’t have time to handle his emotions when she was trying to handle her own.

“Yes, but she must be very special to you son for you to call in _all_ those favours to stop the numerous attempts on her life. I’ve never seen you work so diligently,” he clarified, a threatening undercurrent in his voice. 

Lisa remained calm, her gaze going between Jackson and Montague, a silent conversation seeming to go on between them. She thought about what he’d just said, _attempts on her life_ , she shouldn’t really be surprised, she’d made a rather bold statement and made some enemies as a result. Something was definitely wrong with her though because she felt touched that Jackson had apparently worked hard to keep her alive. She’d figured he would have revelled in her death, at least in the immediate aftermath. He was … different now, clearly. You didn’t gaze longingly at and flirt with someone you wanted to kill, especially when she knew what he was. There was no need for deception. Most men didn’t show their affection by putting someone in the line of of fire and then try to protect them. But then again, most women weren’t attracted to men that held them hostage. 

Regardless, she was touched by his efforts. 

“Don’t read too much into it, you know as well as I do where she works. An overt attack on her life would have made trouble for me,” Jackson explained, a calm disinterested look on his face. 

“Fine, keep your secrets for now. But thank you for bringing it up,” he said, a wicked grin on his face. “I do know where you work Ms Reisert, which is why I’ve brought you here today,” 

“What do you want,” she demanded. 

“You work as a liaison between several secret branches of the United States government, handling transfers, paperwork, crisis situations, etc. A Jack of all trades, in a way. The thing with you, Ms Reisert, the job you do isn’t glamourous like an agent or an analyst, but what it _is_ is essential. You see everything that goes on behind the curtain, you know every name, you see all,”

He was right. That is what she did, she’d gone from working for Keefe to liaising between departments. The amount of confidentiality agreements and terrifying documents she had to sign took two days to get through. And she did see everything that went on. She had access to very confidential information, never any details, but she knew all the big projects being undertaken across the agencies, especially if it required inter-department co-operation. 

“And that is of interest to me,” Montague stated, looking at Lisa as if she was a present wrapped in a bow. “When I learned who you were and where you worked, I knew I could use Jackson to get you here,” he added gleefully. 

“What is it you want?” she asked. She wasn’t going to tell him; frankly she was more terrified of her own government and what they would do to her if she breached contract than she was of him. But there was no reason not to get some information out of him. 

“A few weeks ago a document would have passed your desk detailing a mission known as ‘Blacklist 4’. It would have been concerning Homeland, the FBI, Interpol and French Intelligence. Rumours have been circulating for months now about what exactly Project Blacklist is, but I have it on good authority that ‘Blacklist 4’ is a targeted attack on me and my assets,”

He was right again. B4 was about him, she just didn’t realizing it until now. Codenames were used for everything and very rarely were birth names given in documentation that passed her desk. Montague, she realized was known better in the criminal world as ‘Whitechapel’. Not a very clever codename considering his birth name, but if she’d learned anything it was that criminal king pins had massive egos that needed constant attention. 

“I can neither confirm nor deny,” she said calmly. 

He grinned, waving his hand as if to say it didn’t matter. “What I need to know is any information you have on Project Blacklist, such as who the Agents are that involved, their information source, and most importantly, what the plan is to come for me.”

She didn’t know everything he wanted, but she knew some. 

“I won’t tell you anything,” she countered.

Montague was quiet for a moment, studying her and it took Lisa every ounce of control not to break eye contact with him, to not show her fear.

“See, I’ve studied you Ms Reisert, and you know what I’ve learned?” he finally spoke.

Flashbacks to a nearly identical conversation she had with Jackson years ago filled her mind. 

“What?” she said blandly, trying to look disinterested. 

“You’re tough. You don’t break easily. My son is very good at his job and, despite what he might have told you, I do know this. He couldn’t break you,”

She stuck out her chin slightly in defence of herself; proud. 

“Now there are ways to persuade a woman, nasty ways Jackson here outright refuses to do...but I, I have no such qualms, nor do many of the men under my employ….” he threatened, reaching a hand out to caress her cheek. 

She jerked away in disgust. 

“I still won’t tell you what you want to know,” she said in defiance, her voice stronger than she felt inside, a blind terror rising exponentially in her body. She could not go through that again. 

“No, I don’t expect you would,” he conceded, letting his hand fall against his side, “it didn’t the first time...well, after a few days of it you would. I’ve seen some of the coldest killers break after that sort of interrogation, but I don’t have that kind of time I’m afraid,”

She felt as if she’d been smacked; he knew about her assault and sickeningly it was somehow ‘proof’ that she wouldn’t break. She wanted to be sick. 

“And Jackson would try to kill me if I handed you back to him in that shape,” he said casually, “and I don’t have time for that either,” he said laughing with a wink to Jackson. 

She hated him. Loathed him. She wanted to kill him; wanted Jackson to kill him. He found the entire discussion of gang raping her humourous, it was repugnant. She was annoyed that the only reason he wasn’t going to do it was because Jackson would be upset; as if the idea of not assaulting women because they were human beings wasn’t good enough. She’d revel when he died. 

She glared at him. 

He laughed again. “Oh, look, that got a rise out of her,” he said to Jackson. 

“No, instead I’ll threaten him,” he said, turning his gaze to Jackson. 

“I don’t think you’d kill your own son,”

“Oh no, I won’t _kill_ him. No king kills their heir. But I can do to him what I would like to do to you,” he said, his voice going dark, all humour leaving it. 

“What do you mean?” she asked, confused ever so slightly. 

“I know my son’s weaknesses, better than anyone else. I know exactly where to push him, where to cut to inflict the most pain. I also know you _care_ about people, Ms Reisert. You’re a ‘good person’, so it will upset you to see him suffer because of you,”

It was her turn to laugh, a malicious forced laugh that bellied her true fear. 

“You seem to be under the misconception that I _care_ about him. He held me hostage and tried to kill me, seeing you torture him would feel like justice,” she vollied, keeping her eyes on Montague. 

The annoying smile returned to his face, and she realized where Jackson learned it from. 

“Perhaps,” he conceded, “but I’m a gambling man and if I wasn’t already betting on the fact that you’re fucking him, I _am_ putting my bet on your goodness; you might enjoy some of it, but I don’t do anything light. You’ll buckle when the blood starts pouring,” he said with a tone of finality. 

She fell silent, not sure what to say. He was right of course, well not about her sleeping with Jackson, but that she had a line. She might like seeing him get smacked around a bit, but she didn’t have the taste for torture and she would buckle. 

“You’re bluffing,” she said, hoping he was. 

He stood up, a cold expression on his face and walked towards the large fireplace. She realized what he was going to do a second before he bent down and picked up the metal log poker that had been resting in the fire. He pulled it out, the tip glowing bright with the heat from the fire. 

He turned and walked towards them. 

“Okay, fine, I believe you,” she said hurriedly, turning to look at Jackson. His face had pailed, his fists clenched tightly as he sat there. His eyes caught hers for a split second and she saw the pain flicker there before he turned his gaze resolutely towards the wall. 

“I still think you need a demonstration of my resolve,” Montague said, lifting the poker and coming up behind Jackson. 

She braced as Jackson braced, Montague placing the tip of the poker against his son’s neck, letting it rest there for just a moment before he pulled it away. Tears welled in her eyes as she watched, helpless to make it stop. Jackson stayed perfectly still, his jaw set, teeth grinding, tolerating the burn. His hands had been digging into the fabric of his pants. 

Lisa got up when Montague turned away to put the poker back, she came to stand next to Jackson, hand on his chin, turning his head to see the wound. 

“Don’t,” he said roughly, his hands pushing hers away. 

Montague chuckled. “See, you can’t even handle this. I barely touched him. You care for him. Your affection makes you weak. You’ll break,” 

She clenched her fists at her sides, seeing red towards this man. 

“You have until five o’clock tonight to decide. Either you give up the information freely or I start on him,” he said with a nod towards his son. 

Lisa seethed; a mix of anxiety and blind anger flowing through her. The fight or flight response calling her to act. Her first inclination, to grab the butter knife and stab it through his chest was clearly not the right thing to do so she turned on her heels and bolted out of the room, speeding blindly to her room, needing to get away from that horrible man. 

 

\---------

 

She stormed into the room, slamming the door behind her. It probably wasn't wise, to just leave the room when your captor is explaining just how much value you hold to him and how he was going to extract it from you. But frankly she didn't give a shit. She'd been held captive twice already in her life and she was done with it; done with feeling scared, of wondering what she did to deserve it. There was nothing. She was either going to die here or not and right now, she held the information they wanted so she could do whatever the fuck she wanted.

And right now she wanted to seethe with anger. She wanted to throw something, scream at the top of her lungs. She was pacing the large room, hands fisting as her sides while she let the anger burn it's way through her system. One benefit from being held captive twice, the therapy afterwards had really helped her learn coping strategies. This anger would burn out, she just had to put herself in a safe place - well as safe as she could find - and let her body feel it.

Unfortunately, she was interrupted, which really wasn't that surprising considering the way she'd left the room. The door swung open moments after she slammed it, Jackson coming into the room.

She didn't stop her pacing, glaring at him as she focused on her breathing and clenching her fists. She noticed a large piece of gauze on his neck covering where he’d been burned.

"Lees," he started, concern evident on his face.

_Fuck his concern._

"What the fuck Jackson. Like really?! I’m getting a bit of deja vu here because once again a _Rippner_ is holding me hostage, threatening the lives of the people I care about to get information out of me. Information I don’t even really have. He should have went after someone higher ranking than me. But oh no, cause _we_ know each other that makes me a good target. And that’s sick, you known, torturing you to make me talk," she was rambling, she knew that, but she didn't care. She was so angry.

“How is your neck?!” she all but yelled at him, still pacing, breathing hard.

“It’s fine,” he said, lightly touching the bandage. “Lees - “

“If you are involved with this - if this is some kind of plot to trick me, letting your father “torture” you to play me all the while you’ve been in on it since the beginning…” she said, doing the air-quotes with her hands. “I’ll _actually_ torture you,” she finished and she meant it.

“It’s not,” he said simply, hands out in a position of surrender.

She stopped pacing and ranting and looked right at Jackson; her body humming with adrenaline. She didn't pause to consider her decision, she just acted - walking up to him and pulling his head down to kiss her. She wasn't gentle, hands roughly pulling at his beautiful hair - just like she'd fantasized doing.

He pulled back from her, faced clouded in confusion and lust, _looking fucking gorgeous, hair all mussed around her fingers_. She forced herself to pause, her body humming, heart racing; letting him decide.

It didn't take him long to decide, the confusion gone almost as quickly as it arrived. He pulled her back to him, hands on her hips, lips crushing against hers. She felt the wall behind her back as he pushed her against it and she reveled in being able to feel the full length of him pressed against her body.

She moaned, drinking in as much as him as possible. Some part of her brain tried feebly to tell her this probably wasn't the best time to be doing this; sex was just as bad of a coping mechanism as drugs or alcohol in the wrong hands.

But she thought Jackson's hands were perfect as he pushed underneath her dress, strong hands running up her thighs, fingers searing her skin as they made contact with her flesh. Her hands went for his pants, fingers deftly unbuckling the belt and pushing his pants down; her hand wrapping roughly around his hardened cock. He moaned into her ear, biting the lobe. She stroked him as he pushed her dress up, granting better access, and Lisa lifted a leg like she had that morning, wrapping it around his hip pulling him closer to her. One hand grabbed her thigh, holding it against him as he bucked his hips, creating a glorious friction.

She caught the wicked grin on his face before he attacked her throat, biting down hard enough to be erotic and leave a mark, but not enough to break the skin. She groaned as he repeated the gesture, her hands seeking for skin of her own to touch; pulling at his shirt, slipping her other hand underneath to lightly scratch at the skin of his abdomen.

He bucked his hips again and she moaned, trying to spread her thighs wider.

"Lisa," he moaned into her ear, his voice low and gravelly; she fucking loved it.

"Jackson, just fuck me already," she ordered. She was too amped up on anger and adrenaline to have the patience for anything else. She just wanted him right that moment; letting all of her feelings for him, for what was happening right now, focus on the moment. She didn't care to think whether this was good or right or bad or smart; she knew what she wanted in that moment.

He swore into her ear, his hand moving up her other thigh, pushing the dress further up, lifting her up against the wall so her legs were spread around him. She locked her ankles behind his back; one hand gripping into his hair, the other helping to guide him to her entrance.

He pushed into her tentatively, slowly, _too slowly_. She clenched her thighs and pushed down, using the wall for leverage. He got the hint and rammed into her. She bit her lip trying to restrain the scream that threatened to rip from her. It had been a while and there was so much of him, going slow might have been the better plan. He paused, fully sheathed inside her, allowing her time to adjust.

She was impatient, but took a pause to let her body remember how to do this. She didn't wait long; the itch underneath her skin begging to be scratched. She raked her hands through his hair, scratching his scalp, feeling the soft strands. She squeezed her internal muscles around him, rolling her hips slightly, which earned her another curse word and moan.

Taking the hint, he pulled out of her almost fully before slamming back into her, pushing her further against the wall. The pressure was glorious; being pressed between him and the wall, him pistoning in and out of her body; she knew this was going to be over quick; surrounded by him, every sense being engaged by him. She was surprised that he was a talker, murmuring words into her ear as he moved; she couldn't tell what he was saying but she liked it nonetheless, hearing his voice sounding wrecked because of her. It set her body on fire.

She was close, as she knew she would be so soon, the wave of pleasure building in her body, the flash point where they were joined. She gripped his hair in her hands and pulled his mouth roughly to hers, kissing him greedily as she came, scream lost into his mouth. Light blazed in front of her eyes, her body tensed and then relaxed as she fell over the crest.

He was still pumping into her, his pace uneven and jerky. She brought her mouth to his ear, whispering dirty things she wanted to do to him, telling him how good she felt because of him, letting her lips and tongue graze his skin. It must have worked because she soon felt his body shudder, and he moaned loudly into her shoulder, biting down on her skin in an effort to stay quiet as he came, filling her with heat.

 

\-----

 

A knock on the door, brought him back to the present; he raised his head from where it had been resting on her shoulder.

“I’ll get it,” Lisa said, shifting, the movement causing him to slip out of her.

He dropped his hands from where they had been on her, letting her legs fall to the floor. She chuckled as she stepped away, hands smoothing her dress back down to its rightful place.

“I look more decent than you do,” she said with a smile, taking a quick glance in the mirror.

And he supposed she was right he thought, adjusting his own clothes to be decent; she looked as put-together as she did before, hair slightly more tangled, lips swollen, but altogether normal and beautiful. He turned around to lean against the wall, signing inwardly. His suit was wrinkled and disheveled, his hair even more so. But he didn’t care; _she’d_ done it; it was her hands that had gripped his shirt, her hands that grabbed roughly at his hair as he sunk into her.

He tried to listen to the conversation at the door, his mind still riding the effects of what just happened.

“Ms Reisert, Mr Montague has sent these items up as requested,” he heard David say from the door.

He imagined Lisa smiling pleasantly at him as she thanked him, taking the package from his hands – no doubt the clothes for them to change into.

How she was able to have a normal conversation so soon after _that_ he hoped didn’t reflect on her not enjoying herself. It was a weird mix of feelings coursing through him as he stood there, anxiety, pleasure, concern. He’d wanted her, and now he’d had her but that wasn’t how he wanted it. He’d aimed low, telling himself he’d be happy with a hate-fuck, after all that was about as much as he was likely to get. No woman like Lisa would want to be with him out of positive emotions. The residual anger and aggression between them was likely only to produce a hatefuck. But part of him, the hopeful part that he’d suppressed long ago, had secretly wanted more. That she might want more.

“ – he also suggests you may want to tour the stables. All the horses are in this week, we have a race upcoming, and they are quite lovely,” David continued, giving Lisa a suggestion for what to do for the afternoon while they waited for his father’s buyer to arrive. She probably would like the stables; _he_ liked the stables when he was young.

He zoned out for the rest of the niceties of the conversation, hearing the door finally close and Lisa walk back into the bedroom.

“Clothes,” she said with a smile, lifting the bag ever so slightly. She walked over to the bed and put the bag down, sorting through it, separating the sets of clothes for them both. Silence filled the room, the only noise the slight rustle of the bag and the clothes. She stood barely two meters from him - ironic that the bed was so close and they still ended up against the wall - but she felt miles away. 

He wanted to say something, to see what she was feeling, to clear the air. 

“The stables are nice…..if you wanted to see them,” he said awkwardly. This was awkward, he didn’t know what to say or do.

She looked up at him and smiled, “ya, that would be nice,” she said as calm as can be. He was irritated. How was she so calm and he was a nervous wreck.

“But first, I need a shower and then maybe a nap,” she said, leaning over to take her shoes off.

Both sounded really good; they’d been up for well over 24 hours. He kept his eyes on her, the silence feeling weighted while none of them spoke. 

“But stables after?” she inquired and he was pleased to see a slight hesitation on her face.

“Sure,” he said smiling.

He tried to busy himself while she undressed, pulling the numerous pins and clips out of her hair, the mess of it curling around her shoulders in a haphazard way. He thought she looked beautiful.

“Jackson?”

“Hmm?” he replied, his head looking up from the floor.

“Can you, um, can you help me with this,” she asked her back to him, fingers attempting to undo the latticework of hooks and buttons that kept the dress on.

“Sure,” he said walking up behind her.

He willed his fingers to be steady, to do this simple task. He itched to reach out and touch her; not ten minutes before he’d been buried deep within her but that didn't give him permission to touch her whenever he wanted. He didn't know if she regretted it, if she hated him; he had so many questions and standing so close to her, behind her, unsure and unable to touch her was frustrating. 

He could imagine she smelled like him, his aftershave rubbing off on her skin and hair, his cum covering her thighs. He shook himself mentally, feeling himself getting aroused again, willing himself to get a better handle on things, to not embarrass himself.

But still, he worked at unhooking the buttons. His eyes glanced up to her collar and the angry red marks he’d left there. He lifted a hand to lightly touch one,

“Sorry,” he said.

“Hm? Oh, that’s okay,” she said, realizing what he was talking about. “The shirt in the bag will cover it….and I was pretty into it, so it’s not like its your fault entirely,” she said with a bit of laughter in her voice.

He chuckled along with her; no it certainly wasn’t. He continued unbuttoning, pushing the green fabric out of the way as he went, exposing a rather intense set of undergarments underneath.

“Do you always wear that much lingerie under your clothes?” he asked teasingly.

“Oh, hahaha,” she laughed realization dawning. The bustier was quite elaborate; black and skin tight with lace trim.

“No, Liz got it for me as a joke. She um….she thought you’d like it,” Lisa confessed, shyly.

He didn’t know what to say to that, his fingers stilling on her back. 

“Do you?” she asked hesitantly, her voice low and unsure. 

“Yes,” he said honestly, running a hand over the soft fabric, leaning in to put a kiss on the spot where he’d marked her. He let his hands run over her back and around to her front, one coming up to cup her breast through the fabric, the other moving to the bottom edge, fingers playing with the lace fringe there, barely dipping to touch her underwear. He could feel she was still wet there, a mix of both of them; her underwear having been pushed out of the way earlier to allow him quicker access.

“I’ll have to…to tell Liz,” she said, pushing her butt back against him, running a hand up to cup around his neck. 

“I’ll have to thank Liz,” he teased, biting the spot on her neck again, a small gasp his reward. 

She turned around in his arms and looked him directly in the eyes, hands on his face gently framing it. It was unnerving and he’d never felt more exposed and naked in his entire life. He didn’t know what she was looking for, but it felt like she was staring straight through him into his soul. He didn’t say anything, just let her look and touch, shuddering a bit when she ran her thumb over his lower lip. He tried to blink normally, his heart racing. He let his arms rest loosely around her waist. It felt like an important moment, that this moment would decide whether they were a one-time thing, something to get out of her system or if she wanted him again…. _forever_ a voice in the back of his mind hoped. 

Maybe she did want him, and not just in a hatesex way.

“Do you regret…um, that?” he asked, finally breaking the silence.

She was silent for a moment, “No,” she said definitively, “do you?”

Did he regret being with the woman he loved? The woman who had managed to smash her way past every wall he'd built and take up residence in his heart? But he couldn’t say that to her, he didn’t want to scare her away.

“Never, Lisa,” he replied, pleased to hear his voice come out normal, he added her real name for effect, wanting to understand how truly he meant what he said.

“I’m glad,” she said smiling.

She apparently made her mind up about whatever indecision was plaguing her, and she leaned in to kiss him. He met her halfway, and this time the kiss was gentle and slow; intimate in a way that their earlier kiss wasn't. That one was about anger and frustration...this kiss was about _them_ and for a moment he forgot where they were and _who_ they were. It was personal, intimate, less exploratory and more the type of kiss people who already knew each other would give each other. It was a lover’s kiss. Jackson lost himself in it, in her. 

He hands roamed freely around her back, pulling her in close. Her hands pushed into his hair and he melted into her body. He was shocked at the intensity of emotion he felt. He'd always been an emotional kid, but he'd learned to rein it in, as he got older, to the point where he thought he'd buried them all so deep no one would ever find them.

And then she happened.

And here she was, after all he'd done to her, she was here kissing him, this kiss more intimate than what they’d just done up against the wall a few moments ago. He'd never felt so lucky in his life. He'd hoped, dreamed even that he might be so lucky, but he'd reasoned that he'd be happy with a hatesex fuck with her. Which he thought he'd just had, coming into the room when she was fuming, high on adrenaline.

They pulled apart when the need for air came too much and they just stood there, leaning in to each other.

“Why don’t you hate me,” he whispered into her hair, holding her close. “You should,”

She was quiet for a moment, as if collecting her thoughts and they just stood there holding each other.

“I know,”

“I’m not a good man,”

“I know,”

“Why don’t you hate me,” he repeated, lifting his head to look at her. It was as if he doubted her words, like she was saying she did hate him and his brain was translating it wrong, letting him hear what he wanted to hear. After everything he did to her, the fact that she didn’t hate him was a miracle.

“I don’t know….I just don’t,” she placed a light kiss on his lips.

“Shower, now.” she said smiling.

 

\--

 

Lisa tried to calm the rising panic in her stomach as she washed her hair in the shower. The reality of what she’d just done starting to sink in. She’d just had sex with Jackson Rippner. No, correction, she’d just fucked him against a wall. There was no seduction, she just attacked him. She wasn’t an impulsive person, the exact opposite really and although Liz had teased her about it and part of her had resigned to her attraction to him, she’d thought it would have happened differently.

But what was done was done, and she was truthful when she said she didn’t regret it. He’d asked her if she regretted it and she'd never heard him sound so unsure, so unconfident; it made her heart ache for him. She took a moment to consider his question. She didn't regret it in the way he was asking, but she was regretting having taken the dive in the first place.

Oddly enough. She thought she would, she was waiting for the regret to sink in. But it didn’t. A slew of emotions ran through her; anxiety (for doing something impulsive with unknown consequences), frustration (at her situation to begin with, for being attracted to him), satiety (she’d enjoyed it, fuck did she enjoy it) and desire….because she wanted him again.

They'd tried to kill each other and failed. Part of her wondered if this was the last bit of tension between them, that finally just giving into their basic attraction to one another would end the fire she felt whenever she'd thought of him before. But as she stood there in the shower, letting the hot water run over her body, she doubted that. Liz (and Marie) had told her that maybe she just needed to get him out of her system. And now she had. It had been quick, rough and passionate and she loved it.

And she wanted more. Jackson was like a drug, he'd invaded her life two years ago, then her mind as she couldn't stop thinking about him...and now her body when she'd welcomed him into it. And she wanted to do it again. And again. Instead of quenching the fire, it had only inflamed it.

She forced herself to think rationally, what type of future did they have anyways. That was if he even wanted a future, he could just want to screw her and then move on…which she was surprisingly okay with. Mutually beneficial and if he didn’t want anything more that would certainly make her life easier. Did she date him? Could you date a terrorist without getting arrested? Could she still do her job if her ‘boyfriend’ was one of the people her department hunted down?

She was getting ahead of herself. They needed to get out of this situation first. This was no time to be making big decisions about her future either. She turned the water off and forced herself to get out of the shower. It had been a nice reprieve from her life, from everything happening, but she was a big girl and had to deal with it; always move forward. She wrapped herself in one of the plush robes in the cabinet in the bathroom, sighing into the soft fabric. She had to grant it to them, the amenities were fabulous here. The room had been stocked with a wonderful array of soaps and scrubs, it was wonderful to wash in something pleasant smelling.

“Your turn,” she said warmly walking into the main room.

“Nice robe,” he grinned.

She rolled her hair towel and snapped it at him, missing him deliberately.

 

\---

 

She woke hours later, unsure of the time. She’d all but fallen into the bed, burrowing into the gorgeous sheets. She vaguely remembered Jackson coming out of the bathroom, arranging the pillows on the settee to sleep and she’d told him just to get into the bed. Which is who she found herself curled up against, or rather, who was curled up against her.

“Hey,” he murmured, placing a gentle kiss on her collarbone. She felt his arousal against her hip and smiled, her own flaring up at the realization. 

“Hey,” she replied, tilting her head to encourage him.

He got the message, leaning more onto her, hand sliding up under the edge of the robe. She’d moved around in her sleep and the robe had gotten awkwardly wrapped around her. His fingers walked a pattern up the inside of her thigh, she let her legs fall open slightly to encourage him, giving him better access. He grinned, denying her, opting to tease her instead.

He kissed her hotly across her chest where the robe had fallen open, lips sucking a nipple into his mouth, biting down with just enough pressure to make her gasp. He used his free hand to leverage himself so he could do the same to her other breast.

She held his head to her chest, legs falling more open wantonly as his fingers touched her where she wanted. He teased her more, rubbing circles around her clit, placing wet open-mouthed kisses on her body as he moved downwards. She gasped when he playfully bit one of her nipples, pushing a finger inside her for added emphasis. A second finger followed and then his mouth was on her, his tongue and lips working with his hand to bring her to the edge. She covered her mouth with her hand as she came, not wanting to make too much noise, her thighs clamping around his head. 

Her head cleared and she opened her eyes to see Jackson resting between her legs, his head sitting lazily on her stomach, a satisfied grin on his face. She rolled her eyes at him. 

“Smugness doesn’t look good on you,” she said, annoyed her voice sounded breathy. 

“Everything looks good on me,” he said, his grin not fading. 

She pushed her fingers through his hair, noting absently that she might have a bit of a fetish for his hair. 

“Arrogant too,” 

“But you knew that,” he said, his blue eyes staring intently at her, the smile still on his face, but now it was less smug and more pleasant.

For a moment she let herself forget where they were and who they were, pretending they were just a normal couple having a lazy afternoon in bed…..in his expansive French chalet. Her gaze lingered on his face, not for the first time thinking just how beautiful he was; the sharp cheekbones, the alabaster glow of his skin, the soft wave of his hair, the piercing blueness of his eyes…

“I think you might have a kink for my hair,” he teased lightly. 

She laughed, “it would seem so. That okay?” 

“Yes,” he chuckled, kissing the skin between her breasts. 

“What were you thinking just now?” he asked, his voice casual. 

She shrugged, not really wanting to share. As intimate as they had been, as they _were_ at this moment, she was still apprehensive. Fantasies aside, they weren’t really having a lazy day in bed. 

“Was it about me,” he teased, the smug smile threatening to return. 

“Maybe,” she hedged, grinning herself. 

He pushed up on his hands, moving up her body, kissing skin as he went. 

"Was it a good thought..." he asked, pausing to kiss a breast, "...or a bad thought?" he kissed her other breast. 

"Hmmmm," she said, fake pausing to consider. "A good thought," she laughed. 

"Excellent," he smiled, winking at her. 

She liked this side of him, the playful side that smiled freely. _This_ Jackson she could see herself easily falling for; the dangerous beauty exterior with a soft, kind interior. 

He was directly above her now, face over hers. She lifted her knees to better cradle him against her body, catching the slight shiver in his body as she did. 

A mix of emotions crossed his face, too quick for her to distinguish them all. 

“You’re beautiful,” he said quietly, eyes locked on hers, his voice suddenly serious. 

She blushed from the intensity of the compliment and his gaze. She pulled him down for a kiss, needing to break the intensity of the moment; she wasn’t ready for that. Wasn’t ready for having to think about emotions more than lust or basic like; fantasies about what might be were one thing, but presented with it right now was too soon. She'd just decided she liked sleeping with him...one step at a time. 

The kiss was intimate and she felt like he was trying to tell her something without having to say the words. She ate up the silent phrases, pushing the kiss into a rushed, heated one. She scraped her nails up his back, hard enough to leave marks. He hissed at the action, moaning into her mouth, hips bucking. 

"Oh sorry, too rough?" she asked breathlessly, pulling back, her eyes flicking to the large bandage on his neck. 

He looked at her, his eyes even brighter, more intense than normal. 

"No," he replied, his voice low and husky. 

She grinned. She wasn't shocked, not really. He was an intense man, she would have been surprised if he _didn't_ like a bit of roughness with his sex. And she apparently did as well - if the pleasure she got from his bite marks was any indication. She tried not to think about the line between bad pain and good pain; the cuts she left on his back were good, but the bandage covering the burn was bad pain. 

As if he could read her mind, he nipped sharply at the side of her breast. Lust filled her, swirling in her stomach, her skin ablaze. She needed him inside her now. 

She clamped her thighs tighter around his body and rolled them so she was on top. Surprise showed on his face before being replaced with approval. She sat up, straddling his hips, his hard cock jutting up towards her. She grasped him lightly with her hand, light enough that it would surely frustrate him. She let her hand casually pump up and down his length, feigning a leisurely pace when all she wanted to do was sink down on him. 

"Lisa," he growled out. He sat up, his hands grabbing onto her bum and pulling her against him roughly. 

She kissed him sloppily, but getting the message and pushed her hips forward, guiding the tip of him to her entrance with her hand. She pushed him back onto his back, before sinking down onto him in one movement, the intrusion causing them both to moan. 

She scraped her nails across his chest and stomach as she rode him, rising up and down in a rhythmic pattern. Absently she noticed the network of scars that covered his torso, most old, some new. She wanted to know the stories of all of the marks, of how he'd gotten them. Who did them to him. 

There, the round marks, five of them, skin slightly paler there than elsewhere were her marks. The bullets she and her dad had fired into him. Had she known she'd be here, looking down at her handiwork as she welcomed the madman who took her hostage into her body, again and again...maybe she'd try not to mar the beautiful flesh of the man below her. But then again, had she not, she might not be here as he might have been successful in killing her.

The thought wasn't as sobering as she thought it should have been. She should have been repulsed by the realization that she was fucking the man who tried to kill her. And not just in an afterward reflection, but in the way that she was, in that moment, riding him with abandon. 

Instead of repulsion, desire still flowed through her. Desire and appreciation for this man, and a desire to follow the build up in her body to it's natural conclusion. She wanted him and he felt damn good to have, their bodies fitting perfectly, the feel of his hands on her thighs, of his perfect fucking cock inside her, filling her up in all the right ways. 

But a rational part of her brain had been awoken, and she consciously became aware of where they were and who she was doing. 

"Jackson," she said, her voice sounding like sex. 

"Ya?" he replied, the absent-minded tone in his voice evident. 

She tilted her hips to change the angle ever so slightly, biting her lip when she pushed back down on him, feeling the difference. 

"Can I ask you something?" She said, a plan forming in her mind. 

"....ya," he replied fully distracted. 

She squeezed the base of his cock with her hand, wanting to keep him distracted enough but she didn't want him to come yet. 

"Do you know more about the situation than you're telling me?" She asked, lifting almost all the way off him before slamming down fully as she finished asking the question. 

It seemed to take him a moment to answer, whether that was from him trying to decide what to tell her or him being distracted from being so close to finishing she wasn't sure.

"Yes," he said in a rush, moaning when she clamped her interior muscles around him. 

"Are you using me?" she asked, pushing her hips down again. 

“No,” he replied quickly, his breath uneven

She stopped her movements, resting on his hips, his hard cock still sheathed inside her. 

It took a moment for his brain to catch up to what was going on, realization dawning on his face. 

"Did you just use sex to get information out of me?" He asked, his voice low and restrained. 

"Yes," 

A smile broke out on his face and he laughed, "good play. I didn't see that coming," 

“Tell me,” she said simply, but firmly. 

His head fell to her chest, forehead resting on her clavicle, “Lisa….”  
“Tell me,” she repeated, clamping her muscles around him, forcing him to moan. 

 

\----

 

He was impressed that she’d gotten info out of him using sex; he’d built a career on not being susceptible in that way; his enemies had tried, sending beautiful women and men to seduce him, trying to pry secrets out of him. Sometimes he took them up on their offers of sex, sometimes he didn’t, but he never divulged information; getting off on their frustration. 

He’d let his guard down; this wasn’t a one-night-stand with someone as morally bereft as himself. This was Lisa; good, warm, much-too-good-for-him Lisa. He’d let himself get caught up in being with her, _making love_ to her that he forgot his training. He wasn’t upset, far from it. He was pleased she could manipulate him, could think on her feet….or her back as it were. 

Impressed, but that didn’t mean he had to divulge any more info. 

He lifted his head from her chest and then flipped them so he was back on top; she spread her legs further around him, her knees grasping his hips, locking him against her. He ground his hips down, hands on either side of her head, grinning down at her as she reacted to him. He was trying to distract her, he didn’t want to have this conversation. 

“Jackson…” she said, a warning in her voice, 

“This whole thing with your Dad…” her voice got soft, “...Jackson…..if this,” she motioned to the space between them, her hips pushing against him, seemingly pulling him deeper within her, “...if this, this grande seduction is in someway a con….if you’re helping him manipulate me….”

“Lisa….” he said, trying to pause her.

“…just tell me. I’ll give the information to you, don’t do _this_ to me….I….I won’t survive another…” her voice trailed off and his heart broke. 

That she thought he might be doing this to get information, that he was _working_ with his father, repulsed him. He didn’t want her to think he was with her only as part of a job; he was here, buried inside her, because he wanted to be. 

“Lisa,” he said, resolved.

He lowered himself so they lay, skin touching, their faces barely an inch apart. He wasn’t positive there weren’t cameras in the room; he’d deal with the footage later if there was any, but he couldn’t risk his father overhearing what he knew.

“It wasn’t supposed to get this far. I didn’t want you here. Hell, I’m not supposed to be here,” he whispered, his hand playing absently with a piece of her hair. 

“Have you met Keen’s father?”

”Sam is dead,” she said, confusion on her face. 

“Her biological father. His name is Raymond Reddington..”

“Holy shit, no way,” 

“Ya, that’s what her job is. She works with him. But very few people know he’s her father. I’ve known Red my entire life...he was a _friend_ of my mothers. My father hates him, for reasons I’m sure you can deduce - he could have affairs but she wasn’t allowed in his messed up logic. He hates people taking his things and even after she left him, he still hates Red. I’ve worked with Red since I was old enough to go out on my own…he’s a good man,” 

He looked down at Lisa, kissing her nose before he continued, shifting his hips, a ripple of pleasure teasing his body. He wanted to finish this so he could get back to the much more enjoyable task at hand; besides, talking about his father wasn’t going to do any wonders for his arousal. 

“I hate my father almost as much as he hates Red, well probably more actually, but that’s a longer story for another time,” he said, adding the last bit when he saw her open her mouth to ask a question. He would tell her, the long story of his childhood, of the abuse he suffered at his father’s hand, of the ‘training’ he received. He wanted to tell her; wanted her to understand him, know him completely like no one else had. But now was not the time for that story. 

“So we hatched this plan...both of us were working with the FBI in one way or another and so we planned this. The FBI would arrest my father, Red would get his revenge and another enemy off that list of his and I would get to take out my father and um...his business…” he finished, unsure of whether or not he should have added the last bit. He was sure Lisa wouldn’t approve of him taking over an international crime organization. 

“So, I’m helping you take over an international crime organization?!” she asked with some incredulity in her voice, echoing his thoughts. 

_Should have left that bit off_

“Sort of?” he replied, face twisting awkwardly. 

“Jesus,” she said rolling her eyes. “Well where did the plan fuck up? You said it went wrong,”

“D’Argent, the bastard,” he replied, pleased she was letting that detail go for the time being. “We didn’t expect him to take the job for the bounty on our heads. He’s had one out on your head for months now. D’Argent must be desperate, he hates my father, they are direct competitors. We shouldn’t be here,” 

“Do you have a plan?”

“I’m hoping this buyer has lined up will be Red - that maybe _we_ are Blacklist 4. He’s smart and once the plan went sideways he would have been working on alternate options,”

“So you’re plan is hope?” she said with a wry smile. 

“Yup,” 

“That’s ridiculous,” 

He laughed, kissing her, pushing his tongue into her mouth, his tongue mimicking what his hips were doing. She lifted her knees, adjusting her position. 

“Wait,” she said, breaking the kiss, her hips still moving though. 

“What?” he said breathlessly, trying to keep the irritation out of his voice. 

“If it’s not Red….will he torture you?” she said soberly. 

He paused, eyes focused on hers, “yes. And then he’ll torture you.” 

Her eyes closed, and a look of disgust crossed her face. He spoke the truth; his father would do exactly as promised and he knew exactly where to get him too. The man had years of practise. He’d try and hold out as long as he could until help came, until Lisa could get out. 

“There’s a reason I’m not a field agent,” she said, a sad smile on her face. 

“I’ll be fine,” he said trying to calm her, knowing he would be. It wouldn’t be his first at the hands of Montague. “Don’t feel guilty either. What they do to me is not going to be your fault,”

“How will you forgive me after…”

“Lisa, my love, there won’t be anything to forgive,” he said honestly, his heart leaping at the use of the endearment term. He’d been careful not to use any language that was too strong, but it slipped out seeing her so concerned about him forgiving her after. _After_. After meant she hoped they’d have some sort of relationship when this was done. Optimistic joy spread through him; maybe, just maybe…..

She smiled, resigned, but pulled him closer to kiss, ending the conversation as she occupied her mouth doing other things. 

 

\--------

 

“Go fish,” she said, grinning over her cards. 

They sat around the small table in their room, where Lisa was currently thrashing Jackson in a game of ‘go fish’. They’d finally gotten up after a well needed nap and...some other stuff, the memories of which caused Lisa to blush, got dressed and made the bed.

He’d found a deck of cards in the cabinet and challenged her to a game; she picked go fish, unable to handle something as serious as poker. Go Fish was decidedly not a serious game. The whole scene was surreal; she was kidnapped, awaiting their interrogation for state secrets, and here she was playing cards with a man she was supposed to hate but instead had just finished thoroughly defiling her to her extreme delight. Parts of her hurt from how thorough he was. She shifted slightly on the seat. 

“I’m sorry,” he said randomly.

“For what?” she said, looking around the cards for a sigh he cheated.

“What I did to you.” 

She lifted her gaze to his, the laughter of the moment gone, now serious. She looked at him, his beautiful face, his eyes looking so haunted, and she saw honesty there. She’d seen deception on him often enough it was like a second skin; honesty was a rarer sight. 

“Thank you,” she said sincerely. “I appreciate that.” 

She wasn’t sure what else to say, she did appreciate it, more than she could say. She wasn’t sorry for shooting him, or stabbing him or beating him within in an inch of his life. She had to do it, to survive. And he understood that. Nonetheless the moment hung between them, his apology standing in an odd juxtaposition with the bed in her peripheral gaze

“How did you …. um, cope, after it? Were you okay?” he continued, the question awkwardly stuttered out. 

She sighed, apparently this was happening now. She didn’t not want to tell him, in fact one of healing exercises was to tell a pretend Jackson how he affected her, how what he did hurt her. And she wanted the real one to know, to understand the consequences. Maybe prevent him from doing it to someone else.  
“I had to see a therapist,” She’d taken on a therapist after the events of the flight, needing someone to talk to. It had been incredibly helpful and she managed to process a lot of the trauma she’d experienced over the years. Her therapist had helped her work through the hatred she felt towards her rapist as well as Jackson. It also helped her pass her psych evaluation for joining the agency. 

“Therapists are good. Did yours help you?” he asked, nodding as he said the first bit. 

“Ya, she did. Also boxing. Somehow pretending the bag was your face helped a lot,” she said with a smile, trying to lighten the mood. But it was true, she took up boxing. 

He gave a sad smile. 

“I’m glad you are okay. I have a lot of...remorse for what I did to you,” 

“You should,”

“I know,”

“Do you not normally feel remorse over what you do?” she ventured, not really sure if she wanted to know the answer. 

A light of revelation lit up in her mind. Rationally she knew what he did and that she wasn’t the first person he’d attacked, but the emotional realization that he had and would probably do it again made her feel sick to her stomach. She’d been entertaining the fantasy of seeing him after this...but she couldn’t if he was going to keep on doing what he did. She couldn’t welcome him home after a “business trip” not knowing if he’d just ruining some innocent person’s life. She might want him, and god did she want him - even now, not even an hour after being with him, her body craved him again, but she couldn’t be _with_ him. Not like this. She couldn’t trust him.

“Sometimes,” he said, resting his chin in his hand, “I don’t know, it’s like I can distance myself from what I do. Most of the people I deal with are bad people, it’s like I said, I manage jobs, arrange the pieces. I don’t get involved the way I did...with you,” 

“Well that was evasive,” she deadpanned. 

“I’m trying Leese,” he snapped at her. 

She gave him a raised brow. 

“Sorry. I’m trying. I’ve never...been with anyone who...cared about what I do in the way you do,” he tried to explain, the struggle clear on his face. 

She was pleased by how difficult it appeared to be for him to have this conversation. Always such the smooth talker. 

“Mustn’t have been with many decent people then,” 

“No,” he said solemnly. “It’s going to be a problem for you…” he added, trailing off. 

“The number of horrible people you’ve fucked? No. I don’t care about that,” she said, her turn to evade. 

“Lees…”  
“Yes, it’s a problem, I can’t -” 

They were interrupted by a knock on the door, and Jackson got up to open it, ushering David into the room. 

“Mr Montague has sent me to collect you. His guest will be arriving early and so Mr Montague has decided to conduct business first and then serve dinner,” he said in the same professional tone he had earlier. 

They followed David out of the room and down some hallways, turning at the stairs towards the part of the house she’d never been in. 

“He never does business in the personal part of the house,” Jackson said, leaning in close to her. 

They were ushered into a large room not nearly as ornate as the rest of the house, but still lovely. There were two armed men in the corner, standing stoically at their posts. In the other corner was a metal chair with straps on the arms and legs, clearly designed for restraining a person. Beneath the chair was a large plastic tarp and Lisa’s stomach threatened to upturn at the sight. 

“Sorry we’ll have to do this before dinner, Stella has made such a wonderful roast it would be a shame for it to go cold,” Montague said, coming into the room. 

“Have you decided whether you will co-operate, Ms Reisert?”

She took a deep breath, “I will not,” she said, summoning all her courage. 

“I thought at much,” he said with a sigh, “gentlemen,” head nodding to the armed guards. 

The men came and grabbed Jackson, taking off his shirt and strapping him into the chair. She locked her eyes on his as he was strapped in, trying to convey how sorry she was through her gaze. She let her eyes travel down his chest, for the first time noticing how marked up he already was. There hadn’t been time or the angle for her to see him fully before, she’d planned on learning every curve of his body...later. But now she was presented with the truth of his experience. 

His torso was covered with scars, some paler than the others, older. Some fresh. Too many of them had a pattern to them, a pattern meant not random, meant someone did this to him. He said he’d been tortured before, but now she was presented with the visual proof of it. 

Her shock must have registered somewhat on her face and Montague saw it.

“Shocking isn’t it. The key is to avoid the face. People are always commenting on how beautiful he is,” he said to Lisa, casually grabbing a knife off the table. 

“These are from you, I understand,” he said, taking the knife and drawing connecting lines between the bullet scars, creating a sickening web of red lines as trickles of blood seeped out. 

“This one too,” he said, pointing the knife tip to the mark on Jackson’s throat. “Avoid the face, which sadly includes the throat,” he said sounding genuinely sad. 

She saw red, and not just from the blood beginning to trail down his beautiful chest. And she knew she would break...sooner or later. She’d actually done worse to Jackson and she was tempted to hand over the information right now. Her only hope was to hold out long enough for Reddington to get here...and if he didn’t, well, she hoped they’d be allowed to live.

An hour passed and Lisa was doing her absolute best to look bored and resolute, trying not to throw up or cry or concede. It was proving increasingly more difficult as more lines were carved into his skin, as more blood began to flow. She never let her eyes waver from him, forcing herself to watch. If she looked away it would be a sign of weakness.

“I’m surprised Ms Reisert, I thought you would have cracked by now. I’m not normally surprised by things these days,” Montague said, acting as if he was giving her a compliment. 

Lisa shrugged. “Maybe I’m not as kind as you think I am,”

“Perhaps. But anyone who would sleep with my son knowing what he does has to have a taste for violence. I think you’re a little darker than I gave you credit for….but you’re still a good person,” he said, stepping away from Jackson’s body slightly.

She shrugged again. Maybe he had a point, maybe she had a taste for violence in a way. Maybe it had attached itself to her in recent years, arising from the need to react to the violence done to her. Or maybe it had always been there, she _did_ play aggressive field hockey all through high school and college. But she knew there was difference between defensive violence, or even rough sex and what was being done to Jackson now. She had no taste for that. 

“New plan. You do it,” Montague said, flipping the knife over in his hand and handing the hilt out to her. 

“What?”

“You do it. Maybe that’ll push you along a bit quicker,” he smiled sickly at him. 

“No,”

“Do it or I’ll start cutting off parts, I’m sure there’s a few of his parts you’re rather attached to” he threatened, amused at his own innuendo.

“Fine,” she resigned, grabbing the knife hilt. Her gut reaction was to turn and stab it into the bastard’s gut, let him bleed out. He saw the flicker of anger on her face and stepped back as she took possession of the knife, the guards stepping closer. She’d be dead before she could inflict any damage. 

She sighed and walked the few steps to stand in front of Jackson. He’d stayed relatively silent throughout it all, his pursed lips and white knuckles the only signs of his distress. She had to admit, she was reluctantly impressed by his resilience, his strength. He lifted his head to look at her, it had started to loll in the last ten minutes, the blood loss and adrenaline starting to drain him. 

She cupped his cheek, smearing a drop of blood across his pale cheek, knife gripped tightly in her other hand. 

A knock on the doors startled her, turning she saw them open to reveal David, whose eyes widened slightly at the sight of the room, but otherwise kept his comments to himself. 

“Your guest is here,” he said, 

“John!” a boisterous voice called out. A handsome man walked into the room dressed in an expensive three-piece grey suit, a retro-style hat poised on his otherwise bald head. 

Lisa backed herself further into Jackson’s space so she was standing as close to the chair as possible, between his restrained legs. She bent her knees slightly and shoulders firm, knife held in a defensive position at her side. It was a protective stance. She felt Jackson’s hair brush her arm and she turned her head slightly to look at him, her eyes meeting his. He winked at her before resuming his earlier defeated position.

“Raymond,” Montague said back, his voice cold with disdain. 

_Reddington_. 

“Where is Connelley?” 

“He couldn’t make it, he sends his regards,” the man said, looking around the room critically.

“I see you’ve started without me,” 

“You weren’t even invited,”

“No, but I got word of the intel you were about to get your hands on and I invited myself,” he said with some smarm, smiling a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “My dear man, isn’t that your son tied to the chair. It’s been a while since I tortured someone, I admit, but isn’t it usually more effective to torture the person with the information,” he said turning his gaze on Lisa. 

Their eyes locked and she was trapped in the intensity of his gaze. He was the most peculiar man. Her eyes caught a movement behind Reddington, another man entering the room. _Ressler_. Her optimism shot up; they were going to get out of this. Her eyes shifted back to Reddington who gave her an inscrutable look before turning back to the room. 

“She’s an odd one. I’m trying something different,” Montague said defensively.

“Well, proceed then by all means,” Reddington said, relaxing against the wall.

They all turned their attention back to Lisa, “either start cutting or start talking, your choice,” Montague said. 

She sighed and steeled her nerves, bracing the knife. She’d have words for Liz’s _father_ after this. She placed the knife against the skin of his left arm, applying pressure as she drew a line of red up his arm to his elbow. Jackson looked at her the entire time, his beautiful blue eyes bright as she scribed more marks on his flesh. 

She was going to be sick. 

“Oh for goodness sake,” Reddington cut in. “I have places to be. Not that I don’t enjoy a slow bloodletting - there was this one time in Romania, but I digress. I just don’t have the time today unfortunately. May I?” he said, gesturing to the table of weapons.

“Be my guest,” Montague said, a tight smile on his face. 

Reddington came over to the table and picked up short knife, moving to stand next to Lisa in front of Jackson. 

“Now, the key, my dear is to hit them where it matters. You want to disable them, but not kill them,” he started, demonstrating a proper grip on his own knife. “Then you hit them,” 

Suddenly he turned around with a speed belaying his physical presence and threw the knife at Montague, the blade lodging itself in the man’s side, forcing him to fall to the floor with a loud yell. Nearly simultaneously, Ressler shot the two guards dead. It all happened so fast and in the flash of an eye it was just her, Reddington and Ressler standing. 

There was a rush of noise on the other side of the door and Lisa once again took her defensive stance in front of Jackson. The doors opened and half a dozen armed FBI and Interpol agents flooded into the room. 

“Compound is secure,” she heard one of them say.

Relief flooded her body and she turned and knelt in front of Jackson, working on the restraints on his wrists. 

“Jackson,” she said, worry evident in her voice. 

“Lees,” he said, smiling at her, “you did great,”

“Are you okay?” she asked, glancing at his wounds briefly, all of her attention focused on the restraints. 

“I’ve been better,” he said trying to manage a smirk. 

She rolled her eyes, snapping open one of the arm restraints, attention turning to the other one. His now free hand reached out and grabbed her head, pulling her to him for a searing kiss. She let it happen, relief at him being alive, at her being alive fueling her always-there passion for him. 

He pulled away, chest rising as he sucked in oxygen. 

“They are going to take you away, I don’t know when I’ll see you again,” he said in rushed tones, eyes flicking up to the agents pouring into the room, some walking towards them. 

“I love you Lisa,” he said quietly, giving her his most intense look. 

She froze, not sure what to do. Kneeling between his legs, both of them covered in his blood, just having survived another ordeal. And he told her he loved her. 

“Agent Reisert,” someone said behind her. 

She turned and stood, the interruption freeing her from having her to reply. 

“Yes?”

“If we could talk to you outside please,” the agent said, leading Lisa out of the room. She looked back at Jackson, who was now surrounded by medical staff tending to his wounds. She also saw Montague get similar attention, to her disappointment. She’d be just fine if he died. 

She caught Reddington’s gaze before she stepped out of the room, and he winked at her. Oh, she had questions, _many_ questions for both Liz and Reddington. 

 

\---- four months later ---

 

Lisa tried to catch her breath, laughing from Peter's story; she knew he had a sense of humour, Marie liked to tease him incessantly, but she was surprised at how funny he was on his own. He was so focused at work, so dedicated to the job, it was jarring to see him relax. Not unpleasant though, quite the contrary actually, Lisa had a great time with him tonight. He'd taken her to dinner and then to a stand up comedy show downtown.

He'd walked her in from the street, continuing the story he'd started in the car about how when he was young his sister managed to glue his socks into his shoes without him knowing.

"I had a great time tonight Lisa," he said genuinely.

"Me too Peter. We should do it again," she replied, surprised by the honesty behind the statement. It had been a long time since she'd been on a date, let alone a good one - and she didn't consider breaking into the home of a criminal with Jackson a date. Peter was nice, funny and seemed to genuinely want to get to know her better. She'd like to see him again.

He smiled widely, "I'd like that."

They'd arrived at her apartment door, that awkward part of the date finally arriving. He leaned in to kiss her and she met him halfway. It was a nice kiss, innocent and curious, testing the waters, seeing if there was a physical connection as well as emotional.

Lisa chastised herself for instinctively comparing the kiss to the many she'd shared with Jackson. There'd been a heat and a passion in those kisses, and logically she knew she couldn't compare them honestly. That heat was there because of a history of violence between them; they had baggage. Peter was new, he'd never tried to kill her - a good thing in a boyfriend - but that heat would come; but hopefully from a place of love and not hate.

He pulled back, smiling, "I'll see you at work tomorrow?"

She nodded, a sheepish smile on her face.

"Well goodnight Lisa," Peter said.

And with that he left her, standing outside her apartment, door slightly open. She smiled and walked the rest of the way in, closing it behind her, still smiling.

She froze. Someone was in her apartment. Again.

Her heart leapt, hoping it was Jackson. It had been four months since she’d left him, broken and bleeding and tied to a chair. She'd waited everyday for news he'd survived, a sign that he was okay. Only to hear nothing; even her contacts in the agency couldn't help her. She had begun to accept that he was either dead or boxed, or was never going to contact her again....and so she'd begun to move on with her life. But she always had this hope in the back of her mind that maybe......

She didn't waste any time, grabbing the gun she kept in her purse and taking a defensive stance.

"Jackson?" she called out cautiously. There was no reason to be sly, the person knew she was home.

"Well gee, Lees, I hope I didn't ruin your _date_ ," Jackson's unmistakable voice came from her living room, the tone cold and malicious.

She didn't lower the gun, turning the corner and flipping on the light finding him sitting in her large blue chair, mirroring the way she found him all those months ago.

"Fuck you Jackson," she said irritated coming to stand in front of him.

"You already did that Lees, wasn't it good for you?" He said, trying to be cruel.

He succeeded and she glared at him, valiantly trying to restrain her face from showing how hurt she was by his words. It had been a long time since she'd been on the receiving end of his cruelty. Seeing _this_ side of him was a good reminder of who he really was; the time she spent with him had shown her another side, but clearly too much time with whomever the fuck he spent his time with had stripped him of the kindness she’d seen. The time she spent with him in Europe had clouded her judgement, made her think he was better than that, that he was more than that....and that maybe they had a future. It was ridiculous.

"It's been four months. I thought you were dead," she said simply, sitting down in the chair opposite him, fully completing the sick tableaux from months ago. The setting and players might be the same, but everything was different. They were closer than they were last time, having been through another life and death experience together, having been _together_ ; but they couldn't be further apart. She didn't know who he was, not really and returning to her life had allowed her to reflect on what happened with some rationality. 

He grinned at her, one of his wolfish smiles. "I hope the news of my non death doesn't put a damper on your romance plans."

She turned her head away, unable to look at him and unable to control the tears that started to fill her eyes. He was cruel.

"How can you-" she started, pausing to get up and leave the room. She needed a drink; grabbing the whiskey bottle from the pantry and taking a tumblr from the cabinet. She poured herself a double and downed it quickly. She leaned against the counter, head in her hands, trying to get a grip on her emotions.

She didn't want to do this.  
She didn't want to _feel_ anything for him.  
She didn't want him to be cruel.

She wanted him to love her, to be kind to her, to _not_ be a terrorist so maybe they could live a normalish life. Go to dinner, laze about on a Saturday, complain about work, buy a house, get married, have children. She'd tried to ignore it, ignore the plans her subconscious wanted and how he was a central figure in them.

She didn't love him, but she _could_. She'd kept a close lid on her feelings for him, knowing it would only lead to hurt if she let him in. She was close though and once she let that wall down he'd worm his way in and she'd fall desperately in love with him.

And that couldn't happen. She knew that.

She heard footsteps coming into the kitchen. Unlike the last time, he didn't stay in the living room but had followed her in here. She must have been out of the room long enough for it to be clear she wasn't coming back.

"Lees?" He asked gently, placing a hand on her arm.

She pushed his hand off, lifting her head from her hands and looking him in the eyes - those gorgeous blue eyes. "You can't touch me after you talk to me like that!"

She expected him to give some sort of demeaning snappy remark, a retaliation. Instead his body just sagged and he leaned against the counter, his face sad. He was close but not touching her and she appreciated his respecting of her 'no'.

"You're right. I'm sorry, Lisa," he said quietly.

She looked at him more fully now, unshed tears in her eyes.

"I'd forgotten how cruel you can be," she confessed.

He sighed and rubbed a hand over his face forcing Lisa for the first time to notice how exhausted he looked, faint circles under his eyes, a pallor to his skin that only someone who'd spent as much time looking at him as Lisa had would notice. He looked like he needed a good meal and to sleep for a week.

He hummed in agreement, "I've been working on it. I don't want you to have to see that part of me...or god, be on the receiving end of it,"

She didn't say anything, but poured them both a drink, or another one in her case.

"It's...hard," he continued.

"I appreciate the effort," she said honestly, and she did - she'd noticed how he was nicer to her specifically, still turning his acerbic tongue on others.

He gave her a sad smile and she fought the urge to wrap her arms around him.

"I've had to...revert to some of my older ways these past four months to get stuff done," he offered as way of explanation. “Kindness will get you killed. An dickhead attitude however, get’s stuff done,”

"You mean taking over your father's international crime network," she said, not really asked a question.

He gave her a sly, confused side smile,"...how'd you...."

"Liz Keen is my best friend...."

Clarity dawned on his face, "ahh yes."

"That Reddington...he's quite the character," she said. She liked Red, he was charismatic and entertaining and he doted on Liz like she deserved so that bought him major points in her book.

"That's one way to put it," Jackson said laughing. "I wasn't aware you two had met since the house, he hasn't mentioned it to me,"

"I got transferred, I now work with him. And he’s always inviting me over to dinner with him and Liz,”

Jackson nodded, eyes slightly zoned out, his mind clearly thinking something through. An awkward silence fell between them.

"So is that what you do now?" She asked, her curiosity getting the better of her - she needed to know what he'd been doing for four months.

"I guess," he hedged.

"You guess?!"

"Well I haven't really decided have I?!" He snapped back. "There's you to consider,"

"Oh so I have a say in what you do? Let's see what my choices are, do I want to say my boyfriend is a domestic terrorist _or_ an international kingpin? Hmmm, what _shall_ I choose," she said sarcastically, irritated that those really were her choices.

He surprised her by laughing, a genuine laugh. "Well, first, I don't think they use the word kingpin anymore,"

"Do you prefer Lord?"

"I haven't decided that yet either," he laughed.

She just rolled her eyes, he'd done a lot of non deciding the past four months.

"Boyfriend?" He asked, staring at her intently with a questioning look on his face.

"Hm?"

"You called me your boyfriend. Unless you’re sleeping with another terrorist, to which I'd say you really do have a type there Lees,"

She smiled, _oh she had a type alrighty_ , "um, no I meant you," she said embarrassed. They never really talked about it, never really had the time to talk about it. It was all fight and fuck and then he confessed his love and then left her for four months.

"What about Colato?" He asked shyly and Lisa thought it was the cutest thing ever. "Colato is a good man. A better man than me," he said without any malice, just resignation.

"Yes, he is," she reluctantly agreed. She couldn't lie and disagree with him, they'd both see the lie for what it was and she respected Jackson (and herself) too much to do that.

"It was only our first date, Jackson," she confessed.

"Do you want to see him again?"

It was her turn to sigh. They'd never lied to each other and she wasn't going to start now. "I guess ya, I do," she said.

His face fell, his beautiful blue eyes clouding over with sadness. It made her heart break.

"I thought you were dead....or had lost interest in me," she explained. She needed him to understand, to know why she did things and that there was still a space for him in her life if he wanted it.

"Never, Lees. I meant what I said. I love you," he said. His gaze was piercing and intense, she had to look away, blushing.

"Why no word then?" As much as she needed him to understand her, she needed to understand him.

"I tried several times. It was incredibly hard to not reach out or not stop by. It's a long story, too long to get into tonight but I will tell you the whole thing....but the arrest of my father and the need for me to step in and set things in order, it brought out an array of enemies, old and new. It was unstable, the shift of power....if they knew that you weren't just....if they knew what you meant to me, you'd be in incredible danger; they might have tried to use you as leverage against me. I couldn't risk that - couldn't risk you."

"I don't know what kind of life I can offer you. I don't even know what kind of life I'm going to lead. I'll leave it all for you if you want that, we can retire or I can get a normal job. Or you can run away with me and become a kingpin First Lady," he said.

"You did promise to steal me," she whispered.

"I did. But I want you to be happy Lees, and if that means me walking away and you continue seeing Colato....I won't get in the way,"

It was tempting, all of it. She could run away with him, become a criminal - the part of her that liked to fantasize about ridiculous things thought it was exciting. But realistically, she didn't think she could do that.

" _are_ you going to see him again?" He asked quietly.

"That depends,"

"On what,

"On you." She said plainly, hoping to impress on him everything she wasn't saying.

The morose man started to disappear in front of her as he understood her words, grinning. "So you're saying you like Colato...and he's a better man..." he said, closing the distance between them, walking her back against the fridge, pressing her up against it, letting his body push against hers. She grinned.

"....he isn't wanted for terrorism...." he whispered, leaning to kiss her throat, her head falling back in invitation.

"....you can bring him home to meet the family..." his hands trailed up her thighs, dragging the hem of her skirt up with them. The fingers of one hand moved to touch her against her underwear, skimming where she wanted him to touch her. She bit her lip.

"but you, my dear Lisa......want _me_ " he said, punctuating the last word by pushing two fingers inside her.

She moaned, hands gripping roughly in his hair as he quickly brought her off; they hadn't been together very long, but he'd learned what she liked pretty quickly, intuitively. That should have been the major sign right there, how easily they maneuvered in the bedroom, fitting together. She sagged against him, feeling the length of him pressed down her body, enjoying the contact, the weight of him.  
"Look, we don't have to decide our future or anything now, or anything minor tonight,” he said, “I want you to think about it. I’m here if you want me though,”

She wanted him alright. The physical response she had to him, the one she’d been trying to erase from her body and memory had flared back to life, the weeks of work erased in a matter of seconds. The flames fanned as he touched her. 

“Okay. Good...cause no offence, but you look exhausted," she said while simultaneously undoing the buttons of his shirt, pushing it aside. Her eyes greedily taking in the exposed skin, noticing the new fading lines from a few months ago.

“I am. But I won’t be able to get any sleep if if you keep touching me like that,” he said, voice low.

She undid his belt and pushed a hand to wrap around him, “that’s the plan,” she whispered.

He kissed her.

“Stay with me,” she asked quietly.

He nodded.

She took him by the hand and guided him through the apartment and into her bedroom. She paused, leaning into him in the darkness, her hands pushing up his chest, pulling him down to kiss her. There was something about standing there in the dark, in the privacy of her bedroom that was the most intimate thing he’d ever experienced. He couldn’t see the features of her face, just the outline, the small light from the kitchen barely reaching back here. He could feel all of her pressed against him, both of them still clothed, yet it felt special. Maybe it was because it was a sign of trust; standing in the dark to some could suggest shame or fear...but they’d spent their entire relationship in the light; a public spotlight into their business. But here in her room in the dark, it was just them.

And she wanted to be there.

Maybe that was the difference. She wanted him here, she wanted him. Free from any pressures or misguided feelings of guilt, she wanted to be here. She trusted herself to be with him.

She trusted him.

"Stay 'till morning?" She asked quietly, fingers running over the grooves in his skin, trying to learn them in the dark.

"Okay," he said.

"I mean it. Don't leave in the middle of the night without saying goodbye. Promise me," she ordered looking him in the eyes - or where she thought his eyes must be in the dark light.

He took a deep breath, "I promise Lees,"

"Good."

 

\---

 

She pulled him further into the room, making quick work of the rest of his clothes. He would stay through the night, but he knew in doing so that leaving her tomorrow morning would be hard; impossibly hard. He never wanted to leave her ever again. But he had to. For his safety, and, more importantly, for hers. He'd be back though, he had something to live for now, someone to come home to. He had believed all these years that you couldn't be in his line of work and have a personal life. It wasn't in the cards. And he knew that to be true now; he couldn't bear the idea of something happening to Lisa because of what he did.

He'd have to leave that life behind. Cut all ties, begin again. But he'd do it for her.

\----

**Author's Note:**

> Holy shit. I wrote this. I WROTE THIS. I'm so proud of myself. It's the longest thing I've ever written and honestly, I can't believe it's over 30k. Never thought I could do it....but it just happened. 
> 
> Go me! 
> 
> Also, I'm decently pleased with how this turned out. It was unbeta'd (due to not being able to find one), so all errors are mine. 
> 
> I know this movie is old (omg it's coming up on 10 years), but some characters just never let you go. While writing this I had more than one moment of 'dear god, this is a horrible ship to have. Get off this ship! Run away'...cause it really is, it's horrible. But oh well :P
> 
> ADDITIONAL AUTHOR NOTES  
> \- sexual assault is talked about as it happened to Lisa in the past, in canon, as well as used as a casual threat by bad guys. Nothing happens and there is no slut shaming or victim blaming. If you'd like more clarification just send me a PM or whatnot. 
> 
> \- torture: mildish. Man is tied to a chair and shallow knife marks are cut. There is some blood, but non graphic description. Also, a burn is done with a fire poker - again, not graphic.


End file.
